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THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 


PRESENTED  BY 
MRS. 

ERIC   SCHMIDT 


HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC: 


CONCISE  COURSE  OF  MUSICAL  CULTURE 

BY  OBJECT  LESSONS  AND  ESSAYS. 

BY 

W.  S.  B.  MATHEWS. 

^  • 

FIFTH    EDITION. 


VOL.    I. 


PHILADELPHIA : 

THEODORE    PRESSER, 

1708   CHESTNUT  STREET. 
1896. 


COPYRIGHT,  1888. 

W.  S.   B.   MATHEWS, 

CHICAGO. 


PRESS  OF  WM.  F.  FELL  &  Co, 

I22O-24  SANSOM  STREET, 
PHILADELPHIA. 


TO    MY    MOTHER, 


WHOSE  UNWEARYING  CARE,  INEXHAUSTIBLE  PATIENCE,  AND  NEVER-FAILING 
ENCOURAGEMENT,  HOPE  AND  LOVE,  HAVE  MANY  TIMES  ENABLED 
HER    SON   TO    OVERCOME    DIFFICULTIES    OTHERWISE 
INSURMOUNTABLE.    THIS   WORK    IS   DEDI- 
CATED  AS    A  FEEBLE  TOKEN 

Of  GRATITUDE  AND 

AFFECTION, 

BY 

THE  AUTHOR. 


PREFACE. 


As  a  text  book,  the  present  work  covers  a  new  ground.  Its  prime 
object  is  to  lead  the  student  to  a  consciousness  of  music  as  MUSIC,  and 
not  merely  as  playing,  singing,  or  theory.  It  begins  at  the  foundation 
of  the  matter;  namely,  with  the  observation  of  musical  phraseology, 
the  art  of  hearing  and  following  coherent  musical  discourse.  This  oc- 
cupies the  first  two  parts,  and  covers  a  wide  range  of  topics,  as  will  be 
seen  by  reference  to  the  table  of  contents,  or  the  chapters  themselves. 

From  that  point  the  studies  take  a  different  turn,  and  lead  to  the 
perception  of  the  inner  something  which  gives  music  its  life.  That  in- 
ner life  of  music  is  IMAGINATION  and  FEELING,  and  almost  the  en- 
tire remainder  of  the  work  is  taken  up  with  the  study  of  music  in  re- 
lation to  these,  its  Content.  These  studies,  like  those  in  the  externals 
of  music,  begin  simply,  at  the  very  line  where  form  and  content  touch. 
In  their  progress  they  take  in  review  the  principal  works  of  the  classical 
and  modern  schools,  as  will  be  seen  by  reference  to  Parts  III,  V,  VI, 
VII,  and  VIII.  The  object  of  all  this  study  is  two-fold;  first,  to  de- 
velop in  the  pupil  a  consciousness  of  the  inherent  relation  between 
music  and  feeling;  and,  second,  to  do  this  by  means  of  master- works, 
which,  of  course,  form  the  only  complete  and  authoritative  illustrations 
of  this  relation.  In  this  way  the  musical  perceptions  are  sharpened, 
the  student  is  introduced  to  the  best  parts  of  musical  literature,  and 
thereby  his  taste  and  musical  feeling  are  cultivated.  It  is  easy  to  see, 
therefore,  that  this  book  occupies  a  ground  not  previously  covered  by 
a  text  book. 

In  form,  the  chapters  are  object-lessons.  Such  and  such  works, 
or  parts  of  works,  are  supposed  to  be  played  or  sung  to  the  pupils,  who 
observe  in  them  such  and  such  peculiarities.  This  form  was  selected 
because  it  is  the  true  way  of  communicating  this  instruction,  which 
can  not  be  taken  into  the  mind  through  the  reason,  but  must  be  called 
up  within  the  mind  through  a  comparison  of  sense-impressions  with 
each  other,  and  these,  again,  with  the  feelings  which  they  awaken.  Music 
is  one  thing,  and  ideas  about  music  another.  It  is  the  design  of  this 
study  to  bring  the  pupils  to  music;  for  doing  this,  the  book  marks  out  a 

5 


6  PREFACE. 

plan,  and  furnishes  along  with  it  such  ideas  about  music  as  will  aid  the 
process. 

The  Illustrations,  or  pieces  to  be  played,  cover  a  wide  range,  es- 
pecia'ly  in  the  higher  departments,  and  the  objection  has  been  made 
that  they  are  too  difficult.  To  this  it  can  only  be  answered  that  the 
very  essence  and  pith  of  music  is  here  in  consideration,  and  that  the 
points  in  discussion  could  be  adequately  understood  only  by  the  help 
of  these  great  works,  wherein  they  are  fully  illustrated.  It  will  be 
found  possible,  generally,  to  omit  the  most  difficult  works  in  cases  where 
there  is  no  one  to  play  the  parts  of  them  here  wanted.  In  other  cases, 
where  an  entire  lesson  turns  on  difficult  works,  it  is  safe  to  conclude 
that  if  there  is  no  one  to  play  any  part  of  them,  there  will  be  no  one 
to  understand  them,  and  the  lesson  may  be  postponed. 

In  Part  Fourth  we  have,  in  effect,  an  outline  of  ^Esthetics.  The 
Author  believes  that  the  time  has  come  when  Art-appreciation,  and 
especially  Music,  has  much  to  gain  by  such  an  orientation  of  itself  with 
reference  to  cardinal  principles.  These  four  chapters,  naturally,  address 
themsolvest  th  mature  and  serious.  They  are  not  written  for  children, 
nor  even  for  youth.  A  work  like  this  addresses  many  adults,  ex- 
perienced teachers,  and  friends  of  music,  on  whom  a  discussion  of  this 
kind  will  not  be  lost.  Doubtless  the  execution  is  crude,  and  in  a  sub- 
sequent edition  will  be  improved;  it  is  hoped  that  the  expectation  of 
this  may  serve  to  draw  a  veil  of  charity  over  any  present  imperfection. 

The  Historical  sketches  are  merely  sketches,  and  are  in  part  re- 
printed by  permission  of  Messrs.  Biglow  and  Main,  from  the  New  York 
Musical  Gazette.  They  m  y  be  made  the  basis  of  lectures  or  school- 
room talks,  in  connection  with  their  Illustrations. 

The  Dictionary,  at  the  close,  affords  a  mass  of  readily  accessible 
information,  such  as  is  in  constant  demand  among  students  and  teachers, 
but  is  not  elsewhere  to  be  found  except  in  large  Encyclopedias  of  many 
volumes.  The  preparation  of  it  has  involved  much  more  labor  and  ex- 
pense than  was  anticipated'  but  its  value  for  ready  reference  is  un- 
mistakable. 


CONTENTS. 


PART  FIRST. 

LESSONS  IN  MUSICAL  PHRASEOLOGY. 

I.  Thematic  and  Lyric. — II.  Phrases  and  Periods. — III.  Cadence.— IV.  Modula. 
tion. — V.  Counterpoint  and  the  Contrapuntal  Spirit. — VI.  Variations. — VII. 
Rhythmic  Pulsation  and  Measure. — VIII.  Measure  and  Rhythmic  Motion.— 
IX.  Rhythm  and  Motivization. 

PART  SECOND. 

LESSONS  IN  MUSICAL  FORM. 

X.  Elementary  Forms.  —  Phrases  and  Periods.  —  XI.  Open  and  Closed  Forms.  — 
XII.  Irregular  Period  Forms.  —  Unitary  Forms.  —  XIII.  Binary  Forms.  — 
XIV.  Ternary  Forms.— The  Rondo.— XV.  The  Sonata  Piece.— XVI.  The 
Sonata  as  a  Whole. 

PART  THIRD. 

PRELIMINARY  STUDIES  IN  THE  CONTENT  OF  MUSIC. 

XVII.  Content  Defined.  — XVIII.  The  Intellectual  and  the  Emotional.— XIX. 
Passages,  Cadenzas  and  Effects.  —  XX.  The  Sensuous  and  the  Idealized. — 
XXI.  Descriptive  and  Suggestive  Music. 

PART  FOURTH. 

STUDIES   IN  ART. 

XXII.  The  Ideal  and  the  Object  of  Art  — XXIII.  The  Nature  and  Meaning  of 
the  Beautiful.  —  XIV.  The  Symbolic,  the  Classic,  and  the  Romantic  in  Art. 
XXV.  The  Content  and  Meaning  of  the  Different  Arts. 

PART  FIFTH. 

STUDIES  IN  CLASSICAL  MUSIC. 

XXVI.  The  Playtul.  —  XXVII.  The  Tender  and  Soulful.  — XXVIII.  The  Con- 
tented  and  Jovial.  —  XXIX.  The  Earnest.— The  Sonata  as  a  Whole.— XXX. 
The  Beautiful  in  Classic  Music,  and  the  Transition  Towards  the  Romantic. 

7 


*  CONTENTS. 

PART  SIXTH. 

STUDIES  IN  THE  ROMANTIC. 

XXXI.  The  Chivalrous.  — XXXII.  The  Gentle  and  Sentimental.— XXXIII. 
The  Humoristic  and  Passionate.  —  XXXIV.  The  Fanciful  and  the  Pleasing. 
— XXXV.  The  Sensational  and  the  Astonishing. 

PART  SEVENTH. 

STUDIES  IN  SONG. 

XXXVI.— The  Formative  Influences  in  Music  Generally. — The  Influence  ot 
Poetry  Upon  Music,  and  the  Conditions  of  Their  Successful  Union. — 
XXXVII.  Simple  Ballads.— XXXVIII.  Recitative.  — XXXIX.  The  Aria.  - 
XL.  The  Thoroughly  Composed  Song  (Durchcomponirte  Lied),  and  the 
Arioso.— XLJ.  The  Opera  and  Oratorio. 

PART  EIGHTH. 

BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOrS  (SKETCHES. 

XLII.  Bach.— XLIII.  Handel.  —  XLIV.  Haydn.— XLV.  Mozart  — XLVL 
Beethoven.— XLVII.  Mendelssohn.— XLVIII.  Schumann.— XLIX.  Chopin. 
—  L,  The  Piano-Forte  Virtuosi  and  Liszt. 


PAET  FIRST. 


LESSONS  IN  MUSICAL  PHRASEOLOGY. 


LESSOR    FIEST. 

• 

MOTIVES,  PHRASES  AXD  PERIODS. 

I 

It  is  the  object  of  this  lesson  to  lead  the  pupil  to  observe  the 
division  of  the  music  into  periods  and  phrases;  and  subsequently  to 
develop  a  perception  of  the  different  modes  of  period  structure  here 
distinguished  as  thematic  and  lyric.  As  it  is  the  sole  design  of  this 
course  of  lessons  to  facilitate  intelligent  hearing,  the  pupils'  powers 
of  observation  are  to  be  appealed  to  from  the  start.  He  is  to  be  clearly 
informed  of  what  he  is  expected  to  hear;  the  proper  selections  are 
then  to  be  played  over  as  many  times  as  necessary  until  he  does 
observe.  Each  stage  of  the  lesson  is  to  begin  with  a  definition,  or 
explanation  of  the  phenomenon  or  peculiarity  of  music  it  is  desired 
to  observe.  Inasmuch  as  these  earliest  lessons  represent  only  the 
beginnings  of  musical  discrimination,  the  definitions  in  them  will 
possess  somewhat  of  the  character  of  off-hand  approximations  to  the 
truth,  leaving  exact  statements  to  come  later,  when  the  pupils  are 
better  prepared  to  appreciate  them.  The  definitions  here  given  repre- 
sent so  much  of  the  truth  as  the  pupil  at  this  stage  is  ready  to  receive. 
As  thus: 

1.  A  passage  of  melody  that  makes  complete  sense  is 
called  a  Period. 

Play  the  first  three  or  four  of  the  Schubert  danses  twice  through, 
and  more,  if  necessary.  Instruct  the  class  to  say  "  Period  "  aloud  at 
the  close  of  every  period.  Do  not  let  the  playing  stop  for  them  to 
speak,  but  the  feeling  of  repose  may  be  intensified  by  slightly  empha- 
sizing the  cadence,  and  perhaps  retarding  a  little,  if  found  necessary. 
As  the  period  forms  in  these  danses  are  clearly  defined,  it  will  be 
found  easy  to  observe  them. 


JO  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

Let  this  be  followed  by  No.  2  of  the  list  of  illustrations,  repeat- 
ing it  as  often  as  necessary,  the  pupils  signifying  every  period-close  by 
the  word  "Period,"  as  before. 

No.  3,  treated  in  the  same  manner,  will  conclude  this  stage  of  the 
lesson. 

2.  A  passage  of  melody  that  makes  sense,  but  not  com- 
plete sense,  is  called  a  PhraSe. 

This  topic  is  to  be  treated  in  the  same  way  as  the  previous,  the 
pupils  announcing  the  completion  of  every  phrase  by  the  word 
"  Phrase."  Begin  with  No.  3,  for  in  this  the  phrases  are  clearly 
defined.  Follow  this  by  the  next  illustration,  which  may  need  to  be 
repeated  several  times.  Then  go  back  to  No.  2  again,  for  its  phrases. 
This  may  be  followed,  if  convenient,  by  No.  5  of  the  illustrations, 
treated  separately  for  periods  and  phrases.  Then  take  up  No.  6, 
going  over  this  also  for  both  periods  and  phrases. 

3.  A  fragment  of  melody  that  is  reiterated  over  and 
over,  or  transformed  and  developed  into  a  period,  is  called  a 
Motive.     (A  motive  is  a  musical  text?) 

Begin  by  playing  several  times  over  the  first  six  notes  of  No.  6, 
which  form  a  melodic  figure.  Then  play  the  various  transformations 
of  this  figure  which  occur  during  the  piece,  omitting  the  accompani- 
ment. Then  play  the  entire  first  part  of  the  Novellette  (preceding 
the  slow  melody),  and  let  the  pupils  observe  how  many  times  the 
melodic  figure  is  repeated.  It  will  be  seen  that  this  motive  is  the  germ 
of  the  entire  movement. 

Then  take  up  No.  7,  where  will  be  found  a  period  composed  from 
one  motive — that  contained  in  the  first  four  notes. 

Play  again  No.  3,  and  cause  it  to  be  observed  that  the  melody  there 
is  not  developed  out  of  a  single  motive,  nor  predominantly  out  of  any 
one  motive.  Thus  we  come  to  recognize  two  different  forms  of  period- 
structure.  In  one  of  them  the  periods  are  developed  mainly  from  a 
single  motive;  in  the  other  there  is  a  flowing  melody. 

4.  Music  developed  out  of  a  single  motive,,  or  a  small 
number  of  motives,  is  called  Thematic,  or  motivized. 

Examples  of  this  mode  are  found  in  Nos.  6,  7,  8,  9,  and  10. 

5.  Music  not  developed  motivewise,  but  having  a  flowing 
melody,  is  called  Lyric. 


THEMATIC  AND  LYRIC.  11 

Examples  of  this  kind  are  Nos.  1,  2,  3,  4,  and  the  slow  melodies 
in  Nos.  5,  6,  and  9. 

Several  lyric  and  thematic  examples  should  be  played  one  after 
the  other  in  irregular  order,  until  the  pupils  readily  distinguish 
between  them. 

MUSICAL   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  Schubert  Danses  (Peters'  Ed.) 

2.  Schubert  Menuetto  in  B  min.,  op.  78  (Peters'  Ed.  "  Schubert  Pieces). 

3.  Adagio,  from  Beethoven's  Sonata  in  F  min.,  op.  2,  No.  1  (16  measures.) 

4.  No.  1  of  Mendelssohn's  "  Songs  Without  Words  "  (Peters'  Ed.  "  Kullak"). 

5.  Allegro  from  Beethoven's  Sonata  in  E6,  op.  7. 

6.  Schumann  Novellette  in  E,  op.  21,  No.  7. 

7.  Thirty-two  measures  of  Finale  of  Beethoven's  Sonata  in  D  min.,  op.  31,  No.  3- 

8.  Bach,  Two-Part  Inventions,  No.  1,  in  C  (Peters'  Ed.) 

9.  Schumann  Novellette  in  B  min.,  op.  99. 

10.  First  movement  of  Sonata  in  F  ruin.,  op.  2,  No.  1,  Beethoven. 


LESSOR    SECOND. 

THEMATIC  AND  LYRIC.     CLOSER  OBSERVATION  OF  MOTIVES. 

This  lesson  pursues  the  same  line  as  the  first,  in  order  to  bring 
the  point  out  more  clearly  in  the  pupils'  minds.  Begin  by  a  recapitu- 
lation of  that  lesson.  Play  again  the  Schumann  Novellettes  and 
Beethoven  Adagio  for  periods  and  phrases. 

Then  play  the  Novellette  in  E  clear  through,  in  order  to  call 
attention  to  the  lyric  middle  part.  Play  then  the  Adagio  from  Sonata 
Pathetique,  of  Beethoven,  first  for  them  to  determine  whether  it  is 
thematic  or  lyric;  then  for  phrases  and  periods. 

The  second  part  of  the  lesson  is  to  be  devoted  to  a  Bach  Prelude; 
the  one  in  B  min.  in  the  second  book  of  the  Well-tempered  Clavier 
suits  well  for  this  purpose,  especially  as  there  is  a  copy  to  be  had 
(Root  &  Sons  Music  Co.,  Chicago),  in  which  the  motives  are  numbered. 
The  immediate  purpose  is  to  recognize  the  different  motives.  This 
prelude,  e.  g.,  contains  seventeen  or  eighteen  different  motives.  Prob- 
ably the  best  way  of  securing  sharp  listening  will  be  by  first  playing 
over  a  single  motive  several  times,  in  order  to  fix  it  securely  in  the 
minds  of  the  listeners.  Then  play  the  entire  prelude,  requiring  each 
listener  to  observe  how  many  times  that  motive  occurs  in  the  course 
of  the  piece.  When  the  playing  is  done,  ask  each  one  in  turn  to  state 


12  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

how  many  times  the  motive  was  repeated  in  the  course  of  the  work. 
It  will  be  found  that  a  majority  of  the  class  will  have  succeeded  in 
recognizing  the  motive  at  most  of  its  repetitions.  It  will  then  be  well 
to  play  another  motive,  and  then  go  through  the  work  again,  in  order 
to  see  how  many  times  that  one  occurs. 

Take  next,  e.  g.,  the  Bach  Two-part  Invention  in  F,  No.  8,  and 
play  it  first  for  "Thematic  or  Lyric?"  Then  define  clearly  the  first 
motive,  and  go  through  the  piece,  the  pupils  meanwhile  listening  to 
discover  how  many  times  that  motive  occurs  in  the  right  hand  alone / 
then  go  through  it  again,  to  see  how  many  times  the  same  motive 
occurs  in  the  left  hand  alone.  The  object  of  this  exercise  is  to  lead 
the  pupils  to  attend  to  the  left-hand  part,  as  well  as  the  treble. 
If  there  is  time,  it  will  be  well  to  play  through  the  Schumann  Novel- 
lette  in  B  min.,  for  the  pupils  to  count  the  number  of  times  the  leading 
motive  occurs  in  it. 

Play  again  eight  measures  of  the  Adagio  from  Sonata  Pathetique, 
in  order  to  show  that  in  lyric  music  there  is  generally  a  flowing  melody 
and  accompaniment,  and  that  the  leading  melody  is  not  to  be  found  in 
the  bass  or  intermediate  parts,  as  in  most  of  the  examples  of  thematic 
music  thus  far  introduced. 

6.  Lyric  music  is  founded  on  the  people's  song.  It  is 
simple,  natural  music.  Thematic  music  represents  a  more 
active  musical  life,  and  was  primarily  derived  from  the 
dance.  Excitement  finds  expression  mainly  through  the- 
matic music ;  repose  through  lyric. 

MUSICAL  ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  SECOND  LESSON. 

1.  The  Schumann  Novellettes  in  E  (op.  21,  No.  1)  and  6  min.  (op.  99). 

2.  Adagio  from  Beethoven's  Sonata  Pathetique. 

3.  Bach's  Prelude  in  B  min.,  No.  24  in  Vol.  II  of  "  Clavier." 

4.  Bach's  Two-part  Invention,  No.  8. 


ON   CADENCE. 


13 


LESSON"   THIRD. 


ON  CADENCE. 


7.  A  cadence  is  a  formula  of  chords  leading  to  a  close. 

Thus,  e.  g.,  in  the  key  of  C: 


Ex.1. 


r    F    ? 

So  in  the  key  of  E5: 

ifetsfefeE^ 


s. 


(Play  also  in  several  other  keys.) 

Besides  this,  which  is  called  a  Complete  cadence,  there  are  other 
cadences,  the  most  common  varieties  of  which  are  the  Half  Cadence 
and  Plagal  Cadence.  The  latter  is  the  well  known  "Amen"  cadence 
of  church  music.  For  example,  play  No.  1,  above,  and  conclude  with 
the  following  two  chords,  added: 


Ex.3. 


This  is  also  called  the  Church  Cadence. 


8.  The  complete  cadence  is  used  to  mark  the  close  of 
periods  and  important  divisions  in  musical  compositions. 

Listen  now  to  the  Adagio  from  the  first  Beethoven  Sonata,  and 
when  I  play  a  cadence,  say  "  cadence."  At  the  end  of  the  first  phrase 
there  is  a  "half-cadence."  (Play  it.)  Those  who  are  able  may  also 
point  out  the  half-cadences. 

Play  also  Adagio  from  Sonata  Pathetique;  also,  Schubert  Menu- 
etto  in  B  min.,  and,  finally,  the  Adagio  in  E  from  Beethoven's  Sonata 
in  E  min.,  op.  90. 

If  there  is  any  difficulty  in  the  pupils  recognizing  the  cadences  in 


14  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND   MUSIC. 

these  works,  it  will  be  well  to  introduce  two  or  three  pieces  of  church 
music,  for  further  practice  in  recognizing  caderices. 

Point  out,  also,  the  cadences  in  the  Bach  Invention  in  F,  No.  8, 
the  Invention  in  C,  No.  1,  and  the  Fugue  in  G  min.,  first  volume  of 
"  Clavier." 

MUSICAL  ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  THIRD  LESSON. 

1.  Adagios  from  Beethoven's  Sonatas,  No.  1  in  F,  op.  2,  and  op.  13  in  C  min. 

2.  Adagio  from  Beethoven  Sonata  in  E,  op.  90. 

3.  Schubert  Menuetto  in  B,  op.  78. 

4.  Bach's  Inventions  in  F  (No.  8),  and  C  (No.  1).  * 

5.  Bach's  Fugue  in  G  min.  (No.  16),  from  "  Clavier,"  vol.  1. 


LESSOR    FOURTH. 

IMITATIVE   AND    FUGUE    FORMS. 

9.  Imitation  in  music  takes  place  when  a  second  voice 
exactly  repeats  a  melody  or  phrase  already  heard  in  another 
voice. 

The  term  "  voice  "  here  means  voice-part.  Observe,  e.  g.,  the  Bach 
Invention  presently  to  follow,  and  you  will  perceive  that  it  has  only 
two  voices,  a  bass  and  soprano.  It  is  in  strict  style,  to  the  extent  that 
each  part  or  voice  contains  no  chords.  Each  part  might  be  sung  by  a 
single  voice  ;  and  two  singers,  a  bass  and  soprano,  could  sing  the 
whole  piece. 

Listen  now  to  the  right  hand  alone,  and  point  out  the  end  of  the 
first  phrase.  It  is: 

Ex.4. 


The  first  eight  notes  form  the  subject  for  imitation.  Throughout 
the  first  period  the  treble  leads,  and  the  bass  afterwards  imitates.  In 
the  seventh  measure  the  second  period  begins,  and  the  left  hand  leads. 
(Plays.)  Listen  and  see  how  many  times  the  bass  imitates  the  treble 
throughout  this  piece.  (Seven  times,  viz.:'  in  measures  1,  2,  15,  16, 17, 


IMITATIVE  AND  FUGUE  FORMS.  15 

18,  and  20.)  Listen  again  and  see  how  many  times  the  treble  imitates 
the  bass.  (Four  times.) 

Listen  now  to  the  Eighth  Invention,  and  see  how  many  times  the 
treble  imitates;  also  how  many  times  the  bass. 

The  subject  of  the  Fourth  Invention  is  this: 


Ex.5. 


Listen  as  it  is  played  through,  and  tell  me  how  many  times  this  subject 
is  repeated.     (Plays.) 

10.  A  fugue  is  a  composition  in  which  one  voice  an- 
nounces a  subject  or  theme,  which  is  taken  up  in  turn  by 
the  other  voices,  each  one  entering  after  the  previous  has 
completed  the  subject. 

In  fugues  the  imitating  voice  does  not  enter  upon  the  same  degree 
as  the  antecedent,  nor  on  the  octave  of  it,  as  in  most  of  the  examples 
so  far  given;  but  replies  in  a  different  key,  according  to  certain  rules 
characteristic  of  this  form  of  composition.  The  voices  not  performing 
the  subject  play  complemental  parts,  called  counter-subjects.  As  a 
first  example,  listen  to  the  following  fugue  in  G  minor,  from  Bach's 
"Well-tempered  Clavier."  The  subject  is: 


Ex.6. 


How  many  times  is  this  melodic  figure  repeated  in  the  course  of  the 
fugue?  (Plays.) 

Are  fugues  thematic  or  lyric? 

Listen  now  to  the  Menuetto  from  Beethoven's  Sonata  in  ES, 
op.  31.  Is  it  thematic  or  lyric?  Observe  the  imitation  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  second  period. 

Hear  also  the  Scherzo  from  Beethoven's  Sonata  in  C,  op.  2.  Is 
this  lyric  or  thematic?  Is  it  imitative  or  not? 

Hear  also  Schumann's  Spring  Song.  Observe  the  imitation  in 
measure  18,  where  the  alto  imitates  the  soprano  motive  in  the  seven- 
teenth measure;  also  in  measures  23  and  24,  where  the  tenor  imitates 


16  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

the  soprano  phrase  of  the  previous  two  measures.     (In  playing,  bring 
out  these  imitations  by  sufficient  accentuation.) 

MUSICAL  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  Bach's  First,  Fourth,  and  Eighth  Inventions. 

2.  Bach's  Fugue  in  G  min.,  Clavier. 

3.  Menuetto  from  Beethoven  Sonata  in  E6,  op.  31. 

4.  Scherzo  from  Beethoven's  Sonata  in  C,  op.  2,  No.  3. 

5.  Schumann's  Spring  Song,  from  "  Album  for  the  Young,"  (No.  15). 


LESSOR   FIFTH. 

OF  COUNTERPOINT  AND  THE  CONTRAPUNTAL  SPIRIT. 

11.  The  term  "counterpoint"  means,  in  general,  any 
new  voice-part  added  to  one  already  existing. 

In  a  very  rudimentary  use  of  the  term,  it  would  be  permissible  to 
describe  the  bass  of  an  ordinary  people's  song,  like  "Hold  the 
Fort,"  as  a  counterpoint,  though,  to  be  sure,  it  is  a  very  poor  one. 
The  idea  of  counterpoint  carries  with  it  not  only  the  construction  of 
an  additional  voice  to  one  already  existing,  but  of  an  independent  and 
individually  distinct  voice,  and  not  of  a  mere  natural  bass.  Thus,  e.  g., 
observe  the  bass  of  "  Hold  the  Fort."  (Plays.)  You  perceive  that 
the  bass  has  properly  no  melody  or  movement  of  its  own,  but  is  all  the 
time  concerned  with  furnishing  a  proper  foundation  to  the  chords. 
Take  now,  on  the  other  hand,  Ewing's  air,  "Jerusalem  the  Golden." 
(Plays.)  Observe  the  bass,  how  freely  and  independently  it  moves, 
and  to  what  interesting  harmonies  it  gives  rise.  How  much  more 
inspiring  than  the  monotony  of  "Hold  the  Fort!"  The  bass  of 
Ewing's  "Jerusalem  the  Golden"  is  contrapuntally  conceived. 

Observe,  again,  this  Gavotte  of  Bach's;  it  is  in  D  (from  a  violin 
sonata).  In  this,  properly  speaking,  we  have  little  counterpoint. 

Listen  now  to  the  following:  It  is  Bach's  Gavotte  in  D  min.  from 
one  of  his  suites.  Notice  the  bass,  and  you  will  find  that  it  has  a  steady 
rhythmic  motion  of  eighth  notes.  This  bass  has  what  is  called  "a 
contrapuntal  motion,"  and  of  that  variety  called  "two  against  one," 
that  is,  every  melody  note  has  two  notes  in  the  counterpoint. 


BINARY  FORMS.  33 

Observe  also  the  Menuetto  by  Schubert,  in  B  minor,  op.  78.  (Plays, 
as  before.) 

In  both  these  cases  the  Second  comes  in  what  is  sometimes  called 
a  milder  form  than  the  Principal,  and  is  of  a  softer  and  less  pronounced 
character.  In  this  form  it ,  is  called  a  trio,  probably  because  in  the 
olden  time  these  parts  were  performed  by  a  smaller  number  of  instru- 
ments. 

Observe  also,  the  Chopin  Polonaise,  in  A,  op.  40.  (Plays  until  the 
class  perceive  this  form.) 

In  other  cases,  again,  the  Second  is  of  a  more  animated  character. 
Observe  the  Adagio  from  Beethoven's  first  sonata.  (Plays.) 

Sometimes  the  Second  is  not  so  distinctly  a  unit  as  the  Principal. 
This  is  the  case,  e.  g.,  in  the  Largo  of  Beethoven's  second  sonata. 
(Sonata  in  A,  op.  2,  No.  2.)  (Plays.) 

Binary  forms  are  frequently  extended  by  a  Coda  composed  of  new 
material,  put  in  after  the  repetition  of  the  Principal  in  order  to  lead 
more  satisfactorily  to  a  close.  Such  an  example  we  have  already  in 
the  Largo  last  played.  Observe  again,  the  Scherzo  from  Beethoven's 
Sonata  in  C,  op.  2.  No.  3.  (Plays,  and  repeats,  until  the  class  success- 
fully analyzes  it.) 

Very  many  popular  pieces  are  in  this  form.  For  example,  Wollen- 
haupt's  "  Whispering  Winds."  (Plays.)  The  first  page  is  introduction. 
The  next  four  constitute  the  first  form,  the  Principal.  The  part  in  six 
flats  is  the  Second.  Then  the  Principal  occurs  again,  but  in  an  abridged 
form.  This  is  followed  by  anew  strain  serving  as  Coda,  or  conclusion. 

Observe  also  Chopin's  little  waltz  in  D  flat,  op.  64.     (Plays.) 

Also  the  Chopin  Impromptu  in  A  flat,  op.  29.     (Plays.) 

The  Chopin  Scherzo  in  B  flat  min.,  op.  31,  is  another  example  of 
this  form. 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  Menuetto,  Beethoven's  Sonata  in  F,  op.  2. 

2.  Bach's  Gavotte  in  D  min.    (Peters'  Ed.    Bach's  Favorite  Pieces.  No.  221.) 

3.  Menuetto  in  B  min.     Schubert,  op.  78. 

4.  Chopin  Polonaise  in  A,  op.  40. 

5.  Adagio  from  Beethoven's  Sonata  in  F,  op.  2. 

6.  Largo,  from  Beethoven's  Sonata  in  A,  op.  2,  No.  2. 

7.  Scherzo,  from  Beethoven's  Sonata  in  C,  op.  2,  No.  3. 

8.  Wollenhaupt's  "  Whispering  Winds." 

9.  Chopin's  Valse  in  D  flat,  op.  64. 

10.  Chopin's  Impromptu  in  A  flat,  op.  29. 

11.  Chopin's  Scherzo  in  B  flat  min.,  op.  31. 


34  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 


LESSON    FOURTEENTH. 


TERNARY  FORMS. 

19.  Any  musical  form  consisting  of  three  distinct  unitary 
forms,  is  called  Ternary. 

Observe,  e.g.,  the  following:  (Plays  Adagio  of  Sonata  Pathetique.) 
The  first  subject  is  this:  (Plays  eight  measures.)  The  second  is  this: 
(Begins  in  seventeenth  measure  and  plays  seven  measures.)  The  third 
subject  is  this:  (Plays  fourteen  measures  in  A  flat  minor,  beginning 
after  the  repetition  of  the  Principal,  which  ends  in  the  thirty-sixth 
measure.) 

These  subjects  we  will  designate  as  Principal,  Second  and  Third. 
Observe  now  when  I  play  the  movement  through,  and  as  I  begin  each 
subject,  say  "  Principal,"  "  Second  "  or  "  Third,"  as  the  case  may  be. 
(Plays.)  Observe  again  the  character  of  the  different  movements. 
The  Principal  is  a  pure  lyric;  the  Second  is  much  less  reposeful;  the 
Third,  again,  is  lyric,  but  the  triplet  motion  in  the  accompaniment 
evinces  an  excitement  such  as  we  do  not  find  in  the  Principal.  Observe 
again  while  the  movement  is  played  through  from  beginning  to  end, 
and  see  how  many  times  each  subject  occurs.  (Plays.  The  Principal 
occurs  three  times,  the  Second  and  Third  once  each.) 

This  movement  is  type  of  a  rare  class,  namely,  of  a  slow  movement 
in  ternary  order. 

Another  example  of  ternary  form  is  to  be  found  in  No.  2  of  Schu- 
mann's Kreisleriana.  This  work  consists  of  a  Principal,  the  first  thirty- 
seven  measures.  First  Intermezzo,  or  "  Second,"  twenty-six  measures; 
Principal,  thirty-seven  measures.  Second  Intermezzo,  or  "  Third," 
fifty-four  measures;  Transitional  matter  bringing  back  the  Principal, 
and  the  conclusion  of  the  whole,  forty-seven  measures. 

20.  The  most  common  form  of  this  order  is  the  Rondo, 
or  round,  a  form  deriving  its  name  from  its  returning  to  the 
same  theme,  circularwise,  after  every  digression. 

Observe,  e.  g.,  the  following.  (Plays  two  periods,  seventeen  meas- 
ures of  the  Beethoven  Rondo  in  C,  op.  51.)  This  is  the  Principal. 


TERNARY  FORMS.  35 

Then  follows  a  transition  of  seven  measures,  leading  to  the  key  of  G-. 
(Plays.)  Then  the  Second  in  G,  ten  measures.  (Plays.) 

This  is  followed  by  the  "return,"  a  series  of  passages  leading  back 
to  the  Principal.  (Plays  nine  measures.)  Then  follows  the  Principal 
shortened  to  eight  measures.  (Plays.)  Here  enters  the  Third  subject 
in  C  minor.  It  consists  of  three  periods:  First,  eight  measures;  Second, 
seven,  and  Third,  six.  Twenty-one  in  all.  (Plays.) 

This  is  followed  by  a  transition  of  three  measures,  the  Principal  in 
A  flat,  thirteen  meas.,  and  passage  of  three  meas.  leading  back  to  the 
Principal  in  C,  shortened  to  thirteen  measures,  followed  by  the  con- 
clusion, thirty-one  measures.  (Plays.) 

Thus  we  see  that  the  primary  elements  of  this  Rondo  are  three. 
The  Principal,  (Plays  eight  meas.,)  the  Second,  (Plays  ten  meas.,)  and 
the  Third,  (Plays  eight  meas.)  Everything  else  in  the  Rondo  is  sub- 
ordinate to  these  three  leading  ideas.  These,  again,  are  subjected  to 
the  Principal,  which  by  its  four  recurrences  impresses  itself  upon  the 
attention  as  the  principal  idea  of  the  work. 

Observe  again  these  three  ideas.  (Plays  them  again.)  Now  let 
us  see  if  you  know  them  when  you  hear  them.  (Plays  the  first  three 
or  four  measures  of  each  several  times  in  various  orders  until  the  class 
easily  recognize  them.) 

Observe  now  while  I  play  the  entire  work  through  and  designate 
the  leading  ideas  as  "  Principal,"  "  Second  "  and  "  Third  "  as  they  ap- 
pear. (Plays,  the  class  responding.) 

Still  further  exercise  in  this  form  may  be  had  by  treating  other 
pieces  in  the  same  way.  In  order  to  save  space,  the  work  is  not  given 
here  entire,  but  only  the  analysis. 

Thus,  another  example  is  the  Rondo  from  Beethoven's  sonata  in 
C,  op.  2,  No.  3.  Its  plan  is:  Principal  and  transition  twenty-nine  meas- 
ures; Second  and  transition  thirty-eight;  Principal  and  transition 
thirty- four;  Third,  in  F,  much  elaborated,  seventy-eight;  Principal 
thirty-seven;  Second  and  transition  thirty-five;  Conclusion  sixty. 

(NOTE. — In  treating  a  work  so  large  as  this,  it  is  better  to  begin  by  playing 
separately  the  three  principal  ideas,  and  afterwards  going  through  the  entire  work 
in  the  same  manner  as  the  preceding.) 

The  Rondo  in  Beethoven's  sonata  in  A  flat,  op.  26,  is  another 
example. 

Still  another  is  the  Rondo  in  Beethoven's  sonata  in  B  flat,  op.  22. 
This  work  consists  of  Principal,  (two  periods,  9  and  9)  18  measures; 
transition  4;  Second  9;  transition  (two  periods,  9  and  9)  18;  Principal 
18;  transition  5;  Third,  (four  periods,  6,  17,  6,  10),  39;  Principal  18; 


36  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

transition  6;  Second  abridged,  and  transition  29;  Principal  18;  Coda 
(12  and  5)  17. 

In  the  Rondo  of  Sonata  Pathetique  the  Principal  occurs  four  times. 

The  Rondo  is  founded  on  the  people's  song,  and  in  its  essential 
spirit  is  easy  and  rather  cheerful. 

LIST  or  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  Adagio  of  Sonata  Pathetique. 

2.  No.  2  of  Schumann's  Kreisleriana,  op.  10. 

3.  Rondo  in  C,  Beethoven,  op.  51.     (Peters'  No.  297.) 

4.  Rondo  from  Sonata  in  C,  Beethoven,  op.  2,  No.  2. 

5.  Rondo  in  Ab,  op.  26,  Beethoven. 

6.  Rondo  in  B6,  op.  22,  Beethoven. 


LESSON     FIFTEENTH. 

THE  SONATA  PIECE. 

We  begin  in  this  lesson  the  examination  of  the  most  important 
form  known  to  instrumental  music; — so  important,  indeed,  that  many 
theorists  designate  it  the  "  principal  form,"  and  say  unqualifiedly  that 
it  is  the  type  of  all  serious  forms.  This,  as  we  shall  see,  is  claiming 
too  much  for  it,  for  there  are  in  fact  two  primitive  types,  the  people's 
song  the  type  of  the  lyric,  and  the  ancient  binary  form  the  type  of  the 
thematic. 

The  form  we  now  take  up  is  called  the  "  Sonata-Piece,"  or  simply 
the  Sonata-form,  because  it  is  this  form  which  gives  name  to  the  three 
or  four  separate  forms  combined  in  the  sonata. 

Observe  now  this  piece.  It  consists  of  three  large  divisions.  The 
first  part  contains  several  distinct  ideas,  as  thus:  (Plays  the  following 
motives:) 

Ex.  18. 

(1° 


-    -»— •     .• 


THE  SONATA- PIECE.  37 

(Plays  then  the  first  page  of  Beethoven's  Sonata  in  F.  op.  2,  as  far  as 
the  double  bar.) 

Observe  again  this  entire  page.     (Plays  again.) 

Now  listen  to  the  following  while  I  play,  and  tell  me  if  your  hear  any 
motives  you  have  heard  before.  (Plays  fifty-two  measures  beginning 
at  the  double  bar.) 

Let  us  familiarize  ourselves  with  the  original  motives.  (Plays 
the  motives  Nos.  1,  2  and  3  in  different  orders  until  the  class  is  able  to 
name  each  one  as  heard  "one"  "two  "or  "three.")  Now  listen  to 
these  fifty-two  measures  again,  and  when  either  of  these  original  motives 
occurs,  name  it  "  one,"  "  two  "  or  "  three,"  according  to  which  it  is. 
(Plays  then  the  part  again,  and  very  clearly,  the  class  naming  each 
motive  as  it  occurs.) 

Observe  now  the  continuation  of  this  movement.  (Plays  the  re- 
mainder of  the  movement,  from  the  re-entrance  of  the  theme.)  Does 
this  resemble  either  of  the  two  parts  previously  played?  (Play  again 
until  the  class  discover  that  it  is  precisely  similar  to  the  first  part.) 

21.  Thus  we  find  our  sonata-piece  to  consist  of  three 
parts,  the  third  of  which  is  like  the  first,  and  the  second  is  a 
fantasia  on  the  leading  motives  of  the  first.  The  fantasia  is 
called  the  "  Elaboration." 

The  first  subject  is  called  Principal  •  the  next  the 
Second  (or  by  the  Germans  the  Song-group  or  "lyric 
period  ") ;  the  third,  the  Close. 

Again  observe  this.  (Plays  the  first  part  of  Beethoven's  Sonata 
in  C  minor,  op.  10  No.  1,  as  far  as  the  double  bar.) 

Listen  again  and  designate  the  Principal,  Second  and  Close 
(This  will  prove  a  matter  of  some  difficulty.  The  Principal  ends  in  the 
thirty-first  measure.  The  Second  begins  in  measure  fifty-six.  The  melo- 
dious passage  beginning  in  measure  thirty-two  is  really  of  a  transitional 
nature.  This  will  become  plain  by  hearing  several  times  the  two  pas- 
sages; the  transition,  measure  thirty-two  to  forty-eight,  and  the  Second, 
fifty-six  to  eighty-six;  it  will  then  appear  that  the  latter  is  a  completely 
organized  period,  a  consistent  melody,  whereas  the  former  is  merely 
a  series  of  melodic  and  harmonic  sequences.  The  part  from  forty-eight 
to  fifty-five  inclusive  is  a  pedal-point.  Measures  seventy-six  to 
ninety-four  a  continuation  of  the  cadence  of  the  Second.  In  measures 
eighty-six,  etc.,  the  motives  of  the  Principal  are  recalled.) 

The  Elaboration  should  the.i  be  studied  until  its  T »  -tives  can  be 


38  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

referred  to  their  origin  in  the  first  part  of  the  work.  The  Elaboration 
ends  at  the  fifty-third  measure  after  the  double  bar;  at  that  place  a 
pedal  point  begins,  lasting  until  the  re-entrance  of  the  theme  in  the 
sixty-third  measure. 

The  Sonata-piece  is  of  so  important  a  character,  including,  as  it 
does,  the  genius  of  all  seriously  composed  music,  that  it  will  be  well  to 
return  to  the  subject  several  times,  at  considerable  intervals.  On  these 
occasions  new  examples  should  be  taken  up,  for  which  purpose  the  fol- 
lowing analyses  are  appended.  The  early  sonatas  in  the  Stuttgart  edi- 
tion (Ditson's  reprint)  as  far  as  op.  53,  are  analyzed  in  respect  to  their 
form,  and  will  be  found  very  convenient  for  studies  of  this  character. 

The  first  movement  in  Beethoven's  sonata  in  G,  op.  31,  has  this 
plan:  Principal  in  G,  thirty  measures;  Passage  fifteen;  Transition 
proper  twenty;  Second,  in  B  maj.  and  B  min.  (twenty-three  and  ten) 
thirty-three;  partial  conclusion  thirteen.  The  Elaboration  begins  at 
the  double  bar,  and  for  twenty  measures  handles  the  second  motive  of 
the  Principal.  It  then  takes  up  the  "  passage  "  figure  out  of  the  first 
part  and  carries  that  through  to  the  forty-eighth  measure,  where  the 
harmony  remains  stationary  on  the  dominant  seventh  of  the  principal 
key.  This  is  continued  as  a  sort  of  pedal-point  to  the  seventy-ninth 
measure,  where  the  Principal  is  resumed. 

The  first  movement  of  Beethoven's  Sonata  Appassionata  contains 
four  important  ideas.  The  analysis  of  the  whole  movement  is  as  fol- 
lows: 

Principal,  F  min.  (sixteen  and  eight),  twenty-four  measures;  Transi- 
tion eleven;  Second,  and  passage,  in  AS,  fifteen;  partial  conclusion 
(ten  and  five)  fifteen.  The  Elaboration  contains  six  periods.  The  first 
from  the  Principal,  little  changed,  in  E  min.,  thirteen  measures;  then, 
the  same  motive  capriciously  handled,  passing  through  E  min.,  C  min., 
A.b  to  D£,  fifteen  measures;  third,  transition,  as  before,  little  changed, 
sixteen  measures;  fourth,  leading  idea  of  the  Second,  capriciously 
evading  a  cadence  and  passing  through  D5,  B#  min.,  G5,  B  min.,  G 
F  min.,  fourteen  measures;  fifth,  passage  work  on  diminished  seventh 
of  E,  seven  measures;  sixth,  pedal-point  on  C,  dominant  of  Fmin.,  the 
principal  key  of  the  work,  thus  leading  back  to  the  Principal  which 
then  follows,  five  measures.  The  Recapitulation  closes  with  the  con- 
clusion very  much  extended.  For  whereas  in  the  first  part  the  partial 
conclusion  had  only  two  periods,  fifteen  measures  in  all,  the  full  con- 
clusion has  no  less  than  nine  periods,  and  seventy-four  measures,  as 
thus:  I.  Same  as  in  partial  conclusion,  ten.  II.  Partial  conclusion 
extended,  elt1*  /a.  III.  Motives  frcm  Second,  seven.  IV.  Cadence  work, 


THE  SONATA- PIECE.  39 

nine.  V.  Passage,  nine.  VI.  From  transition  in  first  part,  four. 
VII.  From  Second,  nine.  VIII.  New  matter,  eight.  IX.  Pedal  point 
to  close,  seven  measures. 

The  Sonata-piece  is  sometimes  used  for  slow  movements,  in  which 
case  the  elaboration  is  less  extended.  An  example  of  this  is  furnished 
by  the  Adagio  of  the  sprightly  Sonata  in  B  flat,  op.  22  of  Beethoven. 
Its  plan  is  this.  FIRST  DIVISION,  not  repeated:  Principal,  E  flat,  twelve 
meas. ;  transition,  six;  Second,  B  flatj  nine;  partial  conclusion,  three. 
ELABORATION:  I,  motive  from  principal,  nine;  II,  seven.  REPETITION: 
Principal,  E  flat,  eleven;  transition,  eight;  Second  nine;  conclusion, 
three. 

Quite  a  number  of  the  last  movements  in  the  Beethoven  Sonatas 
are  designated  Finale.  These  are  generally  not  Rondos,  but  precisely 
like  the  Sonata-piece,  except  that  directly  after  the  double  bar  there 
follows  a  third  melody,  called  a  Middle-piece  ( Mittelsatz)  which  takes 
the  place  of  the  Elaboration.  An  example  of  this  is  furnished  by  the 
Finale  of  the  first  Sonata  of  Beethoven,  F  min.,  op.  2.  These  move- 
ments may  be  distinguished  from  Rondos  even  by  inexperienced  stu- 
dents, by  means  of  the  double  bar,  which  does  not  occur  in  Rondos. 

The  Sonata-piece  is  derived  from  the  "  Ancient  Binary  Form," 
which  is  the  form  of  the  Bach  gavottes,  courantes,  etc.  It  consists  of 
two  parts,  the  first  of  which  is  repeated.  In  Courantes  the  first  part  is 
generally  about  three  periods  long,  on  the  same  or  very  slightly  different 
motives.  In  the  Sonata-piece  these  three  periods  have  been  expanded 
into  separate  subjects.  After  the  double  bar  the  original  motives  were 
worked  up  in  the  dominant  of  the  principal  key.  This  part  has  be- 
come the  elaboration.  A  return  to  the  subject  in  the  principal  key 
completed  the  movement,  as  in  the  Sonata-piece. 

ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  First  movement  of  Sonata  in  F,  op.  2.  No.  1.  Beethoven. 

2.  First  movement  of  Sonata  in  C  minor,  op.  10,  No.  1.  Beethoven. 

3.  First  movement  Sonata  in  G,  op.  31,  No.  1.  Beethoven. 

4.  First  movement  Sonata  Appassionata,  op.  57,  Beethoven. 

5.  Adagio  from  Sonata  in  B  flat,  op.  22.  Beethoven. 


40  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 


LESSON    SIXTEENTH. 

THE  SONATA  AS  A  WHOLE. 

The  name  "  Sonata,"  as  we  have  already  seen,  properly  belongs  to 
a  certain  form,  or  single  movement;  but  in  process  of  time  it  has  come 
to  be  applied  to  an  entire  work,  consisting  of  three  or  four  movements, 
only  one  of  which  is  properly  a  sonata.  In  this  larger  sense  all  trios,  quar- 
tetts  and  chamber  music  generally,  as  well  as  all  symphonies  are  sonatas, 
having  the  same  form  as  pianoforte  sonatas,  only  somewhat  longer. 

The  sonata  as  a  whole  consists  of  three  or  four  movements,  or 
forms,  of  which  at  least  one  is  a  sonata-piece.  In  general  the  sonata-piece 
is  the  first  form.  The  second  is  an  Adagio  or  other  slow  movement. 
The  third  either  a  Rondo  or  a  Finale. 

When  the  sonata  has  four  movements,  a  Minuet,  Allegretto,  or 
Scherzo,  intervenes  between  the  slow  movement  and  the  Rondo.  In 
a  few  cases  this  short  movement  precedes  the  slow  movement.  The 
general  plan  of  the  sonata,  therefore,  is  this: 

SONATA-PlECE;    SLOW    MOVEMENT;    RONDO  (OR  FlNALE). 

Or  this: 

SONATA-PlECE;     SLOW    MOVEMENT;     SCHERZO;     FlNALE. 

Let  us  begin  with  an  easy  example.  Observe  the  Beethoven 
Sonata  in  F,  op.  2,  No.  1.  (Plays  the  entire  sonata.)  You  recognize 
the  separate  movements,  having  already  heard  three  of  them  in  the 
previous  lessons.  What  we  wish  to  observe  now  is  that  the  movements 
thus  associated  into  a  single  work  have  no  motives  in  common,  are  in 
different  keys,  and  generally  contrasted  with  each  other;  yet  that  they 
go  together  to  make  up  a  sort  of  story,  a  musical  cycle,  which  seems 
more  and  more  satisfactory  as  we  become  better  acquainted  with  it. 
Listen  again  to  the  whole  work.  (Plays  again.) 

Sonata  Pathetique  is  an  example  of  a  sonata  in  three  movements, 
unless  we  count  the  Grave  introduction  for  an  independent  form.  In 
this  work  the  contrasts  are  extremely  strong,  not  only  between  the 
leading  ideas  of  each  movement  but  between  the  different  movements. 


THE  SONATA  AS  A  WHOLE.  41 

The  Introduction  opens  as  follows:  (Plays  eight  measures.)  This 
very  slow  movement  is  followed  by  a  very  tumultuous  one.  (Plays 
the  first  period  of  Allegro.)  And  this,  again,  by  a  wonderfully 
deep  and  reposeful  Adagio.  (Plays  eight  measures.)  After  this  comes 
the  Rondo,  a  cheerful  yet  plaintive  movement.  (Plays  first  period.) 

These  different  movements  are  not  without  certain  bonds  of  union. 
These  are,  first,  the  Sequence  of  Keys.  The  Introduction  and  Allegro 
are  in  C  minor;  the  Adagio  in  A  flat,  a  nearly  related  key;  and  the 
Rondo,  again,  in  C  minor.  Besides  this  there  is  a  certain  Rhythmic  Pul- 
sation common  to  all  the  movements.  Thus  a  sixteenth-note  in  the 
Grave  is  nearly  of  the  same  length  as  the  half-note  in  the  Allegro,  a 
sixteenth  in  the  Adagio,  and  a  half-note  in  the  Rondo. 

NOTE. — The  contrasts  in  this  sonata  are  intensified  by  the  usual,  and  prob- 
ably correct,  tempos,  which  make  the  half-note  of  the  Allegro  considerably  quicker 
than  the  sixteenth  in  the  Introduction,  recovering  the  movement  again  in  the 
Adagio  where  the  sixteenth  corresponds  to  the  sixteenth  in  the  Introduction. 
The  Rondo  goes  slightly  faster,  but  not  quite  so  fast  as  the  Allegro,  (the  half-note 
of  the  Allegro  being  at  the  metronome  rate  of  144,  and  of  the  Rondo  about  126.) 

The  principal  point  to  observe  in  hearing  a  sonata  is  the  progress 
of  the  emotion,  the  cycle  of  feeling.  In  the  first  movement  we  have 
generally  the  trouble,  the  conflict;  in  the  second  repose;  and  in  the 
closing  movement  the  return  to  the  world  again. 

In  the  same  manner  should  be  examined  Mozart's  Sonata  in  F, 
(No.  6,  Peters'  edition,)  Beethoven's  Pastoral  Sonata,  op.  28,  the  Sonata 
in  G,  op.  31,  that  in  C  minor,  op.  10,  etc. 

This  exercise  should  be  distributed  over  a  considerable  lapse  of 
time;  it  occurs  agaiu  in  a  later  chapter.  (Lesson  XXIX.) 


PAET   THIED. 


THE  CONTENT  OF  MUSIC. 


LESSON  SEVENTEENTH. 

CONTENT  DEFINED. 

We  have  here  three  small  pieces  of  music,  all  well  made,  and  in 
fact  works  of  genius. 

The  first  is  the  Bach  Invention  in  F,  (  No.  8  of  the  two-part  In- 
vention) already  known  to  us.  The  second  is  the  first  two  strains  of 
the  Andante  in  Beethoven's  Sonata  in  F  minor,  op.  57.  The  third,  the 
Schubert  Menuetto  in  B  minor,  op.  78.  Observe  them.  (Plays.) 

Let  us  consider  the  impression  they  leave  upon  our  consciousness. 
The  first  has  the  spirit  of  a  bright,  rather  talkative,  but  decidedly  talented 
person,  who  is  not  wanting  in  a  certain  mild  self-conceit.  The  second 
is  full  of  repose  and  deep  feeling.  As  we  hear  it  over  again  a  serious- 
ness comes  over  us,  as  when  one  enters  a  forest  in  an  autumn  day. 
The  third  has  a  spice  of  the  heroic  in  it,  as  well  as  a  vein  of  tender- 
ness; the  latter  especially  in  the  second  part  (the  trio). 

2.  Or  take,  again,  two  other  pieces.     The  first  is  the  Adagio  of 
Sonata   Pathetique;  the   second   Chopin's    Polonaise   in   A.     (Plays.) 
The  first  has  a  deeply  tender  spirit,  sad  yet  comforted.     In  the  second 
we  have  the  soul  of  a  hero  and  patriot  who  hears  his  country's  call. 

3.  Or  take  again  two  pieces  by  a  single  author,  and  for  our  first 
trial  let  them  be  by  Bach.     They  are  the  Inventions  in  F,  (No.  8,  as 
before,)   and  the   three-part  Invention   in  E  minor,  No.  14.     (Plays.) 
The  first  has  the  character  already  assigned  to  it.     The  second  is  full 
of  repose  and  quiet  meditation. 

4.  Or  take,  again,  two  pieces  by  Chopin.     Let  them  be  the  Noc- 
turne in  E  flat,  op.  9,  and  the  Polonaise  in  A,  already  heard.     (Plays.) 

42 


CONTENT  DEFINED.  43 

In  the  nocturne  we  have  a  soft  and  tender  musing,  as  when_  at 
twilight  one  sinks  into  a  tender  day-dream. 

From  these  and  multitudes  of  other  examples  that  might  be  ad- 
duced it  will  be  seen  that  there  is  in  music  something  beyond  a  pleas- 
ant turning  of  words  and  phrases,  something  more  than  a  symmetrical 
succession  of  well-contrasted  periods.  Every  piece  leaves  a  greater 
or  less  effect  upon  the  feelings.  It  has  its  own  spirit  of  grave  or  gay, 
heroic  or  tender.  This  inner  something,  this  soul  of  the  music  we  call 
Content. 

22.  The  whole  Content  of  a  piece  is  the  total  impression 
it  leaves  upon  the  most  congenial  hearer.  Or,  as  another 
has  said,  "  The  whole  Content  of  a  piece  is  all  that  the  author 
put  into  it,  technical  knowledge  and  skill,  imagination  and 
feeling."  * 

The  Content  is  to  be  found  out  by  hearing  the  piece  a  sufficient 
number  of  times  for  its  meaning  to  be  ascertained.  The  Content  is 
not  some  peculiarity  of  the  piece  that  can  be  pointed  out,  but  the  final 
impression  it  leaves  after  repeated  hearings.  It  is  for  that  reason  that 
the  examples  thus  far  referred  to  have  been  such  as  were  already 
familiar  through  previous  citation. 

Pieces  lacking  Content  are  merely  empty  forms — bodies  without 
souls.  There  are  many  such  to  be  met  with. 

A  piece  may  be  of  considerable  length  and  elegantly  written  and 
yet  contain  but  a  small  Content.  Compare,  e.  g.  these  two  pieces. 
The  first  is  Fields'  nocturne  in  B  flat,  one  of  his  cleverest  works.  The 
second,  Schumann's  Romance  in  F  sharp,  op.  28.  (Plays.)  The  first 
is  an  elegant  piece  of  verse,  but  it  says  very  little.  The  second  is  ex- 
tremely earnest  and  heartfelt;  yet  even  this  is  not  of  such  deep  mean- 
ing as,  e.  g.)  the  Largo  of  Beethoven's  second  sonata.  (Plays.) 

(These  works  should  be  repeated  until  the  pupils  or  the  greater 
part  of  them  perceive  the  differences  of  which  mention  is  made.  It  is 
a  mistake  to  tell  them  beforehand  the  qualities  they  are  to  find.  Let 
them  learn  to  feel  them  for  themselves.) 

As  music  is  a  much  more  complete  emotional  expression  than 
speech,  it  will  be  found  impossible  to  fitly  describe  in  words  the  general 
impression  musical  master- works  make  upon  the  feelings  of  congenial 
listeners.  "  Congenial  listeners,"  is  said,  because  when  one  lacks  a 

*J.  C.  Fillrnore. 


44  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

musical  soul,  or  is  out  of  the  mood  for  it,  a  piece  makes  no  impres- 
sion upon  him. 

The  principal  difference  between  the  creations  of  genius  and  those 
of  an  inferior  order  is  one  of  Content.  Any  student  who  will  study  the 
best  models,  and  follow  the  directions  of  competent  teachers,  may  master 
the  technical  art  of  the  musical  composer,  so  as  to  satisfy  a  technical 
criticism  in  all  respects.  But  unless  he  happens  also  to  have  musical 
feeling  of  a  high  order,  his  works  will  be  nearly  or  quite  wanting  in 
Content.  Even  among  the  greatest  composers  there  are  some  (Francis 
Joseph  Haydn,  e.  </.,)  whose  works  are  masterly  in  form  and  taste,  but 
as  a  rule  elegant  rather  than  deep. 

In  general  every  piece  falls  into  one  of  two  categories.  Either  it 
is  stimulative  or  restful.  All  well-written  thematic  works  belong  to  the 
former  category;  lyric  movements  to  the  latter. 

The  stimulative  effect  resides  in  the  quick  movement,  and  a  vigor- 
ous harmonic  and  melodic  movement.  The  restful,  in  a  quiet  movement, 
generally  slow  or  at  least  moderate,  and  a  lyric  structure. 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 
• 

1.  Bach  Invention  in  F.  (No.  8.) 

2.  Andante  from  Beethoven's  Sonata  in  F  min.,  op.  57.  (sixteen  meas.) 

3.  Schubert  Menuetto  in  B  min. 

4.  Adagio  of  Sonata  Pathetique.  (sixteen  meas.) 

5.  Chopin's  Polonaise  Militaire  in  A. 

6.  Bach's  three-part  Invention  in  E  inin.  No.  14. 

7.  Chopin  Nocturne  in  E  flat,  op.  9. 

8.  Field's  Nocturne  in  B  flat. 

9.  Schumann's  Romance  in  F  sharp. 

10.  Largo  of  Beethoven's  Sonata  in  A,  op.  2,  No.  3. 


THE  INTELLECTUAL  AND  EMOTIONAL.  45 


LESSON  EIGHTEENTH. 


Let  us  observe  again  two  of  the  pieces  out  of  the  last  lesson. 
They  are  the  Bach  Invention  in  F,  No.  8,  and  the  theme  of  the  Andante 
in  the  Beethoven  Sonata  appassionata,  op.  57.  (Plays.) 

Which  of  these  seems  to  mean  the  most?  Which  one  has  the 
more  feeling  in  it?  (This  point  must  be  dwelt  upon  and  the  pieces 
played  repeatedly  until  the  pupils  perceive  that  there  is  more  feeling  in 
the  Andante.)  Let  us  analyze  the  phraseology  of  the  Andante.  Its 
interest  is  chiefly  harmonic.  Its  peculiarly  serious  expression  is  due  to 
the  alternation  of  the  tonic  and  subdominan*  chords,  thus: 

Ex-  ig'  I J          I  an<U        A 

PCI: -I  fa  *-*=% — \\ — l=i *~ 


2  -— - 


The  effect  of  gravity  is  also  partly  due  to  the  low  position  of  the 
chords  in  absolute  pitch,  especially  of  the  seventh-chord  which  opens 
the  second  period.  To  the  same  impression  the  slow  movement  con- 
duces. The  passage  presents  nothing  of  outward  sensuous  melody  for 
the  ear  to  seize  upon. 

On  the  other  hand,  observe  again  the  phraseology  of  the  Bach  In- 
vention. (See  Chap.  IV,  where  it  is  analyzed.)  It  consists  almost 
wholly  of  two  motives  which  are  repeated  many  times  in  different  keys 
and  in  both  voices.  The  first  is  the  bold  arpeggio  figure,  the  first  six 
notes  of  the  treble.  The  last  tone  of  this  motive  is  also  the  first  of  the 
second  figure,  the  descending  run  in  sixteenths.  These  two  motives 
together  make  a  phrase  and  form  the  principal  idea  of  the  piece. 

This  phrase  occurs  entire  ten  times  in  the  Invention;  besides  these 
the  first  motive  occurs  six  times,  and  an  inverted  imitation  of  it  (see 
measure  21,  in  the  bass)  several  times  more. 

Thus  it  would  hardly  be  too  much  to  say  that  the  entire  Invention 
consists  of  nothing  more  than  this  single  idea,  and  that  the  two  speakers, 
or  rather  singers  (the  treble  and  bass)  arrive  at  nothing  new  after  all 
their  prolonged  discussion. 


46  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

In  the  harmonic  structure  of  this  piece  we  find  a  decided  plan.  It 
begins  in  F  major.  At  the  seventh  measure  it  goes  into  C  major,  and 
makes  a  cadence  in  this  key  in  the  eleventh  measure,  closing  with  the 
accent  of  the  twelfth  measure.  Then  ensues  the  middle  part  which 
begins  in  C,  passes  into  G  minor,  D  minor,  B  flat  and  so  back  to  F. 
The  climax  occurs  in  the  nineteenth  or  twenty-first  measures. 

The  construction  of  so  elaborate  a  piece  from  so  few  materials  is 
an  evidence  of  intellectual  activity  on  the  part  of  the  composer. 

2.  Another  example  of  a  similar  mode  of  construction  is  afforded 
by  the  Bach  Invention  in  C,  No.  1,  analyzed  in  Chap.  IV.     This  work 
also  consists  of  a  single  phrase   imitated,  transformed,  transposed,  car- 
ried through  0,  G,  D  minor,  A  minor,  F,  and  so  back  to  C,  and  all  this 
within  a  compass  of  twenty-two  measures. 

3.  Yet  another  example  of  this  mode  of  construction  is  afforded 
by  the  Bach  Fugue  in  C  minor.     (Clavier,  No.  2,  Plays.) 

In  all  these  a  leading  subject  is  taken  as  a  text,  not  to  come  back 
to  and  repeat  entire  as  i  i  the  Rondo  and  other  binary  and  ternary 
forms,  but  to  work  with,  to  transpose  and  transform,  to  elaborate  by 
means  of  harmonic  treatment  until  an  entire  movement  is  built  up  out 
of  it.  This  is  the  type  of  musical  composition  as  it  existed  in  Bach's 
time.  Some  pieces  are  more  emotional  than  others,  but  all  of  them  are 
built  up  on  this  plan.  They  contain  Musical  Thought.  These  trans- 
formations of  motive  are  equivalent  to  reasoning  in  language.  To  ap- 
preciate them  properly  one  needs  to  follow  the  idea  through  all  its 
modifications  and  modulations. 

The  opposite  of  this  mode  of  structure,  as  we  have  long  ago  seen, 
is  the  lyric,  the  natural  type  of  the  emotional.  Observe  now,  for  the 
sake  of  the  contrast,  the  first  sixteen  measures  of  the  Beethoven  Adagio 
from  the  Sonata  in  F,  op.  2,  No.  1.  (Plays.) 

In  general  the  following  may  be  advanced  as  a  sound  doctrine 
regarding  the  Intellectual  in  Music. 

All  thematic  music  is  of  an  intellectual  character.  In  order  to 
fully  appreciate  it,  the  hearer  needs  to  firmly  seize  the  leading  motive, 
so  as  to  be  able  to  follow  it  through  its  various  transformations.  Such 
a  following  out  and  participating  in  the  author's  musical  thought,  im- 
plies an  unconscious  comparison  of  the  motive  with  its  various  trans- 
formations. All  thematic  music  is  characterized  by  more  varied  modu- 
lations and  a  more  artificially  contrived,  or  at  least  a  freer,  harmonic 
Btru:+ure  than  is  found  in  lyric.  Here,  again,  in  this  elaborate  harmonic 
setting,  ,~e  have  the  trace  of  mastership  on  the  part  of  the  composer; 
a  token  of  his  musical  thinking,  as  distinguished  from  merely  meditating. 


THE  INTELLECTUAL  AND  EMOTIONAL.  47 

Yet  this  kind  of  music  is  not  unemotional.  On  the  contrary,  it  is 
sometimes  intensely  exciting.  When  this  is  the  case  the  effect  is  due 
to  a  fitly  chosen  harmonic  progression  by  means  of  which  a  climax  is 
attained,  and  the  intensification  of  the  effect  through  the  reiteration  of 
the  leading  motives. 

The  leading  motive  is  repeated  many  times  in  all  music,  for  in  this 
way  only  can  unity  be  attained  in  a  music-piece.  There  is  this  differ- 
ence, however,  between  the  repetitions  in  thematic  and  lyric  pieces, 
viz.,  that  in  lyric  pieces  the  motive  is  repeated  unchanged,  but  in  the- 
matic pieces  with  manifold  changes. 

Thematic  music  is  at  first  unattractive  to  hearers  in  general,  because 
they  do  not  know  how  to  hear  it  properly.  When  they  hear  the  same 
piece  many  times  they  become  reconciled  to  it,  and  in  the  end  enjoy  it 
and  even  prefer  it  to  lyric  pieces  they  at  first  thought  more  beautiful. 

One  of  the  most  decided  examples  of  the  intellectual  in  music  is 
afforded  by  counterpoint.  (See  Lesson  V.)  The  simplest  theme 
treated  contrapuntally  acquires  a  dignity  which  was  before  wanting. 
In  double  counterpoint  the  intellectual  is  even  more  strongly  marked. 

The  strictest  type  of  musical  composition  is  the  Fugue.  In  this  a 
single  subject  forms  the  substance  of  it.  This  subject  can  not  be  trans- 
formed with  absolute  freedom,  but  each  imitation  must  take  place  on  a 
particular  degree  of  the  scale.  Thus,  e.  g.,  if  the  antecedent  is  in  the 
tonic,  the  imitation  or  answer  ("  consequent")  must  be  on  the  dominant, 
and  vice  versa.  When  a  modulation  takes  place  and  the  subject  ap- 
pears in  a  foreign  key,  the  imitation  takes  place  in  the  dominant  of  that. 

Besides  these  restrictions  there  is  also  the  "  counter-subject "  which 
every  voice  must  take  up  immediately  after  finishing  the  subject.  Thus 
the  counter-subject  forms  almost  an  invariable  accompaniment  to  the 
subject  throughout  the  Fugue.  In  spite  of  these  limitations  Bach  was 
able  to  use  this  form  with  such  freedom  as  to  leave  us  a  very  great 
number  of  Fugues  which  are  not  only  masterly  in  their  construction  but 
emotional  and  thoroughly  free  and  musical,  and  among  the  most  cher- 
ished treasures  of  the  musician's  repertory. 

NOTE. — Students  desiring  to  study  Fugue  analytically  can  do  so  in  Mr. 
James  Higgs'  "  Fugue "  (in  Novello's  "  Music  Primers,"  price  one  dollar.) 
Those  able  to  read  German  will  find  a  very  interesting  treatment  of  the  subject  in 
the  third  vol.  of  J.  C.  Lobe's  Kompositionslehre,  in  which  he  bases  his  theories 
on  Bach's  remarkable  work  "  Die  Kunst  der  Fugue  "  (Peters'  Ed.)  a  series  of 
twenty -four  Fugues  on  a  single  subject. 

The  subject  of  this  lesson  may  be  continued  through  another  one, 


48 


HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 


in   which   case   the   "list  of  additional   illustrations"  will   be  found 

useful. 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  Bach's  Invention  in  F. 

2.  Andante  from  Beethoven's  op.  57.  (sixteen  meas.)] 

3.  Bach's  Invention  in  C,  No.  1. 

i.  Allegro  from  Beethoven's  Sonata  in  F,  op.  2  No.  1. 

ADDITIONAL  ILLUSTRATIONS,  NOT  ANALYZED  ABOVE. 

1.  Bach's  Fugue  in  C  minor,  Clavier,  No.  2. 

2.  Schubert  Impromptu  in  C  minor,  op.  90,  No.  1. 

3.  Bach's  Fugue  in  G  minor,  Clavier,  No.  16. 

4.  Schubert  Impromptu  in  E  flat,  op.  90,  No.  2. 

5.  Lefebre-Wely's  "  Titania." 

6.  First  movement  of  piano  solo  in  Chopin's  Concerto  in  E  minor,  op.  11. 

7.  Handel  Chaconne  and  variations  in  G.    No.  3  of  Kohler's  Handel's  "  Lessons, 
Pieces,  and  Fugues."     (Peters'  Ed.  No.  40.) 

8.  Handel's  Capriccio  in  G  minor,  No.  2  of  "  Seven  Pieces  "  in  same  volume. 


LESSON    NINETEENTH. 


PASSAGES,  CADENZAS  AND  EFFECTS. 


Sequence  is  the  general  name  given  to  the  immediate  repetition  of 
a  phrase  or  motive  whether  in  unchanged  or  modified  form. 

In  thematically  composed  periods  the  motive  is  followed  by  several 
repetitions  of  it  in  a  somewhat  changed  form.  The  Sequence  thus 
formed  proceeds  no  farther  than  compatible  with  a  graceful  return  to 
the  key  in  which  the  period  is  intended  to  conclude.  A  Sequence  not 
thus  returning  and  completing  itself  into  a  period,  becomes  either  an 
independent  section, or  a  passage,  which  is  the  general  name  given  to 
such  parts  of  a  music-piece  as  do  not  fall  into  periods.  The  following, 
e.  g.,  is  a  very  simple  passage. 

Ex.  20. 


Here  is  one  slightly  more  complex. 


Ex.  21. 


PASSAGES,  CADENZAS  AND  EFFECTS.  49 

Observe  the  following  two  passages  from  Cramer's  First  study. 
(Plays  as  far  as  the  middle  of  the  eighth  measure.)  Observe  also  the 
passage  descending  from  the  second  beat  of  the  tenth  measure  to  the 
first  note  of  the  thirteenth.  (Plays.)  Also  the  ascending  and  descend- 
ing passages  following.  (Plays  the  whole  study.)  Explain  the  con- 
struction of  these  passages.  Thus,  e.  </.,  the  right  hand  ascends  in  the 
thirteenth  measure  and  three  measures  after  by  sequencing  on  the 
figure  at  a  Ex.  22. 

Later  it  descends  by  sequencing  on  figure  #,  Ex.  22. 


Such  passages  as  these  differ  from  regularly  constructed  phrases 
in  this,  that  being  composed  of  a  merely  artificial  sequencing  on  a 
single  motive,  whatever  sensible  or  definite  may  come  of  it  must  be 
owing  to  the  harmonic  treatment  and  progressions. 

Passages  in  musical  composition  serve  the  purpose  of  gracefully 
connecting  one  part  of  a  work  with  another,  and  of  relieving  the  atten- 
tion from  the  strain  of  the  thoughtful  or  deeply  expressive  periods  be- 
tween which  they  intervene.  In  this  use  we  find  them  in  Bach,  Handel, 
Haydn,  Mozart,  Beethoven,  and  in  fact  all  good  composers.  In  modern 
writers,  however,  they  have  been  very  much  developed  and  have  been 
made  the  vehicle  for  the  display  of  bravoura  effect,  especially  on  the 
pianoforte.  The  effectiveness  of  a  passage  is  in  proportion  to  its  appar- 
ent difficulty,  which  impression,  again,  is  derived  either  from  the  visible 
labor  of  the  player,  or  from  the  inability  of  the  hearer  to  understand 
the  construction  of  it.  Any  such  Sequence  as  those  in  Exs.  20  and 
21  is  easily  comprehended  by  even  an  inexperienced  ear.  But  we 
find  in  various  modern  works  passages  not  susceptible  of  ready  analysis 
by  the  ear,  especially  when  played  rapidly.  Thus,  e.  g.,  observe  this 
cadenza  from  Liszt's  Rigoletto.  (Plays  Chromatic  Cadenza  on  p.  4  of 
that  piece.)  When  played  rapidly  it  produces  an  immense  effect.  It 
is  derived  from  the  chromatic  scale.  Let  us  build  it.  Suppose  we 
take  a  descending  chromatic  scale  of  one  octave. 


. 


Instead  of   descending  simply,  in   this   way,    let  us  go  down   by 
4 


50 


HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 


sequences   of    a   motive  ascending    one    degree,    played   with   both 
hands. 


EX.  24. 


I   etc. 


Now  let  the  little  finger  play  a  chromatic  scale  a  sixth  above  the 
treble  and  a  sixth  below  the  alto.     Then  the  right  hand  will  play  this: 


And  the  left  hand  this: 


Ex.  26. 


And  both  hands  this: 


e) 

etC' 


Ex.  27.       I 


— jz«=zfa:irzfe=i=±ii=i£ t£z —  e 

— \ *f — -  F f — f» — ^,* 


In  Chopin's  works  we  find  a  great  variety  of  passages  consisting 
generally  of  a  combination  of  sequences  of  diminished  sevenths  re- 
solved chromatically.  Of  such  a  kind  are,  e.  g.,  the  following  from  the 
Concerto  in  E  minor.  Here  (p.  165  of  the  Augener  edition  of  Klind- 
worth's  Chopin)  are  two  ascending  sequences  of  diminished  chords, 
differently  treated  (second  and  third  lines).* 

On  p.  168  of  the  same  edition  we  have  a  different  passage  con- 
structed on  the  same  general  plan.  (See  in  general,  the  chain  of  pas- 
sages following  the  soft  melody  in  C,  middle  part  of  the  first  movement 
of  the  Chopin  Concerto.) 

Reference  may  also  be  made  if  convenient  to  the  Cadenza  in  the 
Rive- King  edition  of  Liszt's  Second  Rhapsody. 

*Reference  is  here  made  to  the  sequences  immediately  preceding  the  close 
of  the  solo  part  in  E  major,  first  movement  of  Concerto  in  E  minor. 


THE  SENSUOUS  AND  THE  IDEALIZED.  51 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


1.  Cramer's  First  Study. 

2.  Cadenza  from  Liszt's  "  Rigoletto." 

3.  Passages  from  Chopin  Concerto  in  E  minor. 


LESSON    TWENTIETH. 

THE  SENSUOUS  AND  THE  IDEALIZED. 

In  dance  music  all  its  good  harmony  and  melody,  and  grace- 
ful treatment  generally,  are  made  subservient  to  the  sense  of  physical 
motion.  Thus,  e.  g.,  observe  the  following.  (Plays  a  part  of  Strauss' 
"  Blue  Danube  Waltzes.")  This  music  unquestionably  is  genuine  and 
valid,  but  it  appeals  mainly  to  the  dancing  instinct.  As  played  by  the 
the  orchestra  it  is  much  more  voluptuous  than  it  appears  on  the  piano- 
forte. 

Observe  now  another  waltz.  (Plays  Karl  Merz's  "  Pearl  of  the 
Sea.")  In  this  we  have  the  dance-instinct  also  addressed,  but  not  in  so 
enticing  and  voluptuous  forms  as  in  the  Strauss  music.  This  belongs 
to  the  class  of  "  drawing-room  waltzes,"  and  partakes  of  the  naivete  of 
the  People's  Song. 

Again,  take  a  still  less  pronounced  type.  (Plays  the  Chopin 
Waltz  in  E  flat,  op.  18.)  Here  we  have  also  a  waltz;  the  same  rhythm 
and  the  same  form.  Yet  in  this  piece  the  sensuous  element  has  retired. 
It  is  not  now  an  actual  flesh-and-blood  dance  to  which  the  composer 
invites  us,  but  to  a  poetically  conceived  meditation  upon  a  waltz. 
Here  the  fancy  runs  wild.  This  we  see  in  the  extremely  rapid  tempo, 
which  is  more  than  three  times  as  rapid  as  a  waltz  could  be  danced. 

The  Strauss  "  Blue  Danube "  reminds  us  of  the  whirling  ball- 
room, the  thickly  perfumed  air,  the  blazing  lights,  and  all  the  sensuous 
intoxication  that  goes  with  it.  The  Merz  waltz  is  still  a  dance,  a  flesh- 
and-blood  dance,  but  no  longer  so  exciting.  It  is  a  nice,  hearty  family 
dance  under  the  trees  in  open  sky.  The  Chopin  waltz  leaves  the  physi- 
cal scene  entirely.  This  is  the  idealized  dance. 

Observe  again  the  following.  (Plays  the  waltz  from  Gounod's 
"  Faust.")  And  then  this.  (Plays  the  Chopin  Waltz  in  A  flat,  op.  42.) 

Here  again  we  have  the  same  contrast.     One  of  the  pieces  invites 


52  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

us  to  a  real  waltz;  the  other  to  an  idealized  revery.  Which  is  the 
material?  And  which  the  poetic? 

If  convenient  it  will  be  well  to  show  here  how  the  physical  "  Faust  " 
waltz  is  itself  idealized,  although  in  a  sensational  direction,  in  Liszt's 
arrangement  of  Gounod's  "  Faust."  Here  we  have  the  dreamy  melody 
in  the  middle  of  the  waltz  dwelt  upon  and  idealized,  and  the  slow 
movement  interposed,  recalling  the  first  meeting  of  Faust  and 
Marguerita. 

The  same  distinction  between  dance  music  proper,  and  parlor 
music  in  dance  forms,  prevails  throughout  all  the  movements  originally 
designed  to  control  the  physical  motions,  such  as  the  March,  Waltz, 
Polka,  Mazurka,  Minuet,  etc.  It  will  be  felt  by  the  observant  that 
those  pieces  which  most  strongly  suggest  and  invite  to  physical  motions 
(as  the  Strauss  waltzes,  for  example)  stop  there,  and  do  not  possess  a 
poetic  Content. 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  Strauss'  Blue  Danube  Waltz.    (Any  other  superior  dancing  waltz  will  do.) 

2.  Karl  Merz's  "  Pearl  of  the  Sea." 

3.  Chopin  Waltz  in  E  flat,  op.  18. 

4.  Waltz  from  Gounod's  "  Faust."    (Sydney  Smith,  perhaps.) 

5.  Chopin  Waltz  in  A  flat,  op.  42. 

6.  Liszt's  Gounod's  "  Faust." 


LESSON    TWENTY-FIKST. 

DESCRIPTIVE,  SUGGESTIVE  AND  POETIC  MUSIC. 

Quite  in  line  with  the  previous  lesson,  we  have  here  to  do  with  music 
in  which  certain  external  events  or  objects  are  referred  to  by  means  of 
music. 

Observe  the  following.  (Plays  Henry  Weber's  "  The  Storm," 
but  without  naming  it.)  Ask  the  question  :  "  Do  any  of  the 
class  know  this  piece?"  If  none  of  them  know  it,  ask  them  to 
tell  what  it  means.  It  will  prove  a  very  amusing  experiment, 
the  accounts  will  be  so  different.  If  any  of  the  class  already 
know  it,  ask  them  to  remain  quiet,  and  allow  the  others  to  give  their 
explanation  of  it.  When  this  has  been  done,  read  aloud  the  author's 
prefatory  note  as  follows: 


DESCRIPTIVE,  SUGGESTIVE  AND  POETIC  MUSIC.  53 

"The  Storm.  An  Imitation  of  Nature(!)  The  following  is  the 
idea  conveyed  by  this  composition.  A  shepherd  is  going  home  with 
his  flock — while  he  is  playing  an  air  on  his  flute  a  storm  approaches. 
The  thunder,  the  roaring  of  the  water,  the  crash  of  trees  and  the  fire- 
bells  are  to  be  heard  in  succession."  (Plays  again.)  As  an  "  imitation 
of  nature"  this  pretty  little  piece  is  scarcely  successful.  For  although 
the  flute  and  the  muffled  thunder  are  tolerably  suggested,  the  crash  of 
trees  and  roaring  of  the  waters  do  not  appear.  The  fire-bells  also 
would  scarcely  be  heard  in  a  pastoral  neighborhood.  However,  this  is 
a  point  relating  to  the  poetic  conception,  with  which  we  have  really 
nothing  to  do.  Our  question  is,  Do  these  musical  figures  really  repre- 
sent or  remind  us  of  the  natural  objects  to  which  the  author  refers 
them?  To  this  question  we  must  return  a  decided  negative.  Even 
with  all  the  resources  of  the  modern  orchestra  in  the  hands  of  such  a 
master  as  Wagner,  a  storm  is  very  imperfectly  represented. 

Again,  observe  this.  (Plays  Mr.  G.  D.  Wilson's  "  Shepherd  Boy.") 
This  pretty  little  piece  has  no  imitation  of  nature  as  such.  A  name  is 
given  it  which  serves  as  a  starting  point.  But  the  music  gives  us 
neither  the  rocks,  the  grass,  the  sheep,  the  sheep-bells,  the  boy,  his 
crook,  or  the  bright  sky  over  head,  but  only  the  peaceful  and  monoton- 
ous spirit  of  such  a  scene.  This  is  an  Idyll  and  not  a  description. 

For  a  still  more  fortunate  example  observe  this.  (Plays  Schu- 
mann's "  The  Hobby  Horse"  No.  8,  out  of  the  Album  for  the  Young, 
without  naming  it.  When  the  piece  is  concluded,  ask  the  class  their 
impression  of  it,  as  to  what  it  means  or  represents.)  In  such  a  piece 
as  this  it  is  not  possible  to  infer  the  meaning  of  the  author  from  simply 
hearing  the  piece.  But  when  the  clue  is  afforded,  the  suitability  of 
the  music  becomes  apparent. 

Observe  also  "  The  Jolly  Farmer  "  No.  10  in  the  Album  for  the 
Young.  (Plays.)  This  piece  might  be  called  by  any  other  name  that 
would  be  sufficient  to  account  for  its  simplicity,  heartiness  and  satisfac- 
tion. Schumann's  title  is  on  the  whole  the  easiest  hypothesis  by  which 
to  account  for  it. 

Plays  also  "  Santa  Glaus  "  No.  12  in  the  Album,  the  Spring  song 
No.  15,  the  little  Romance  No.  19,  and  the  Sailor's  song  No.  37. 

It  will  also  be  advantageous  to  study  in  this  connection,  as  time 
serves,  Schumann's  "  Scenes  from  Childhood"  op.  15.  These  thirteen 
little  pieces  are  extremely  varied  and  clever,  and  belong  rather  to 
poetic  music,  than  to  descriptive  music  proper. 

The  difference  here  implied  is  this:  —  In  descriptive  music  it  is 
attempted  to  represent  the  external  traits  of  objects  by  means  of  music, 


54  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

in  such  a  way  that  a  person  hearing  the  music  will  recall  the  object, 
which  is  practically  impossible.  In  poetic  music  it  is  attempted  to 
represent  the  spirit  of  such  and  such  natural  objects  or  experiences. 
The  title  serves  to  connect  the  two.  Whoever  hears  the  music  with- 
out knowing  the  title,  hears  only  some  very  animated  and  widely  dif- 
ferent pieces  of  music,  interesting  and  fresh  considered  simply  as 
music.  When  he  knows  the  title  he  has  in  that  a  clue  to  the  com- 
poser's intention  or  desire  of  representing  something  beyond  the  actual 
content  of  the  music  as  such.  Such  pieces,  therefore,  form  useful 
study  for  pupils  not  yet  thoroughly  musical. 

Of  the  same  class  but  in  a  lower  grade  are  the  fanciful  titles  so 
common  in  parlor  pieces,  such  as  "  Warblings  at  Eve,"  "  Monastery 
Bells,"  "  Maiden's  Prayer,"  etc.,  in  all  of  which  the  title  was  an  after- 
thought, put  on  to  sell  the  piece,  frequently,  indeed,  assigned  by  some 
other  than  the  composer,  and  often  with  very  little  reference  to  the 
actual  Content  of  the  music. 

Observe  again  this.  (Plays  the  "  Battle  of  Prague,"  without  an- 
nouncing title.)  This,  again,  is  an  independent  and  fairly  well  made 
piece  of  music,  a  Sonata,  indeed.  That  the  low  tones  represent  can- 
non no  one  would  know  except  he  knew  the  intention. 

If  convenient  it  will  prove  very  interesting  in  this  connection  to 
observe  a  four-hand  performance  of  Wagner's  "  Ride  of  the  Valkyrie," 
one  of  the  most  singular  compositions  before  the  public. 

There  are  also  at  least  two  of  the  Beethoven  Sonatas  which  are  of 
especial  interest  in  this  connection.  They  are  "The  Pastorale  "  op.  28, 
and  "The  Adieux,  the  Absence  and  the  Return,"  op.  84. 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  "The  Storm "  by  Henry  Weber. 

2.  "The  Shepherd  Boy,"  G.  D.  Wilson. 

3.  "  The  Hobby  Horse,"  etc.  from  Schumann's  "  Album  for  the  Young,"  op.  68. 

4.  "The  Battle  of  Prague,"  byKotzwara. 

5.  "  Scenes  from  Childhood  "  op.  15.  Schumann. 

6.  "  Sonata  Pastorale,"  op.  28.  Beethoven. 

7.  "The  Adieux,  the  Absence,  and  the  Return."    Sonata  op.  81.  Beethoven. 


PAET  FOURTH. 


STUDIES  IN  ART  AND  THE  BEAUTIFUL 


CHAPTEK    TWENTY-SECOND. 


SECTION    FIKST.       THE    IDEAL    AND    ITS    PHASES. 

Every  thing  that  is,  stone,  plant,  tree,  landscape,  building,  animal 
and  man  himself,  presents  itself  to  the  mind  in  two  aspects.  First  as 
an  actual  appearance,  an  established  and  ordered  existence,  proceeding 
according  to  its  own  laws  and  expressing  its  own  nature.  Man  at 
first  accepts  it  in  unquestioning  simplicity.  Presently,  however,  this 
unquestioning  acceptance  of  whatever  is  because  it  is,  gives  place  to 
a  spirit  of  inquiry  which  seeks  to  know  why  it  is.  The  answer  to  this 
gives  the  second  aspect  of  things;  namely,  that  every  thing  that  is 
is  the  representation  or  embodiment  of  some  particular  idea,  which 
existed  before  the  appearance  of  it,  either  in  the  present  individual  or 
any  of  its  predecessors. 

Thus  if  we  attentively  consider  a  piece  of  crystalline  rock,  as 
of  granite,  we  find  it  first  a  merely  natural  appearance,  an  inanimate 
substance,  a  piece  of  matter.  But  when  we  meditate  upon  it  more 
deeply,  we  perceive  that  its  particles  are  organized  into  crystals, 
determinate  forms,  in  the  construction  of  which  the  particles  of  matter 
have  followed  certain  laws.  Thus,  beyond  all  we  can  learn  of  the  piece 
of  granite  by  mere  inspection,  there  lies  back  of  this  its  law,  the  ruling 
principle  of  its  type;  the  idea,  of  which  granite  is  the  expression.  So 
every  piece  of  inorganic  nature  manifests  laws,  ideas,  which  are  back 
of  the  natural  appearance. 

In  an  organized  existence,  as,  e.  g.,  a  plant,  we  recognize  the  idea 
much  more  clearly.  For,  whereas  in  the  crystal  the  impelling  force 
acted  in  the  original  formation  once  for  all,  in  the  plant  we  have  be- 
fore us  a  continual  creation.  With  its  leaves  open  to  the  sunshine 

55 


56  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

and  showers,  and  its  rootlets  groping  in  the  soil  for  moisture  and 
other  elements  of  its  being,  it  gathers  to  itself  from  the  world  about  it 
whatever  is  most  necessary  for  its  growth,  and  shapes  and  fashions  it 
according  to  the  organic  law  of  its  species.  Here,  then,  we  come  upon 
certain  rudimental  appearances  of  self-determination;  or,  as  we  might 
otherwise  say,  upon  a  higher  step  in  the  representation  of  idea. 

How  much  stronger  is  the  expression  of  idea  in  a  tree!  Take 
the  oak.  The  acorn  is  a  little  fruit,  scarcely  larger  than  the  end 
of  your  finger.  Planted,  it  yields  but  a  tender  shoot.  But  when  a 
hundred  suns  of  summer  have  shone  upon  it,  and  a  century's  winds  and 
storms  beat  upon  it,  how  sturdy  and  grand  it  stands!  There  is  in  the 
oak  an  idea,  the  law  of  its  being;  and  sunshine,  rain,  storm  and  pass- 
ing years,  but  afford  it  opportunity  to  bring  this  idea  to  expression — to 
work  out  its  own  ideal. 

Again,  consider  the  animal,  more  highly  organized,  gifted  with 
self-movement,  and  with  a  certain  amount  of  mind  and  intelligence; 
nay, even  with  the  more  precious  qualities  of  friendship  and  affection. 
Yet  each  kind  is  true  to  its  type.  Individuals  differ,  but  there  is  be- 
hind all  these  variations  the  idea  of  the  species,  the  type  of  the  kind, 
the  ideal,  from  which  no  one  varies  in  any  radical  degree. 

Thus  we  come  to  the  still  higher  expression  of  idea  in  man,  whose 
glory  is  his  mind;  his  complex  and  wonderful  intellectual  and  emotional 
nature,  the  image  of  God.  This  it  is  which  investigates  the  outer 
world,  arranges  her  phenomena  into  orderly  sequence  of  cause  and 
effect,  and  classifies  her  appearances  according  to  their  essential 
character.  It  is  the  mind  of  man  which  multiplies  the  wants  and 
capacities  of  life,  as  well  as  the  means  of  gratifying  them.  Still  more 
the  mind  shows  itself  in  literature,  and  here  in  such  true  sense  as  to 
make  all  these  other  achievements  seem  of  no  meaning  and  significance 
as  if  they  were  indeed  only  the  very  "  small  dust  of  the  balance.  "  Thus 
we  have  in  the  lower  department  of  mental  effort,  what  we  might  call  the 
"matter-of-fact"  part  of  literature, the  newspapers  and  magazines  through 
which  man  learns  of  the  doings  and  ideas  of  his  fellow  men  throughout 
the  world,  and  the  histories  in  which  he  learns  of  the  rise  and  fall  of 
nations,  and  reads  the  lessons  of  the  past.  How  wonderful  is  the  evi- 
dence these  give  of  far-reaching  human  thought  and  sympathy ! 
But  above  this  great  practical  department  of  literature  which  relates 
itself  to  material  success,  we  find  Poetry,  and  Imaginative  Composition 
of  every  kind,  in  which  the  human  spirit  soars  into  higher  regions  of 
fancy  and  feeling.  Here  the  soul  is  represented  as  unhampered  by 
accidents  of  fortune,  or  as  triumphing  over  them  in  the  exuberant 


THE   IDEAL  AND  ITS  PHASES.  57 

force  of  its  own  individuality.  Nay  !  the  spirit  searches  into 
the  eternal  principles  of  good  and  evil,  and  sets  them  in  order  before 
us.  This  progress  goes  yet  further  in  Art.  Temple,  Statue,  Picture, 
Symphony  and  Psalm,  all  unite  in  giving  evidence  of  a  spiritual 
activity  in  man  which  rises  above  the  routine  of  everyday  life  and  its 
necessities,  into  the  clear  and  more  enduring  radiance  of  the  ideal. 

Thus,  whether  we  consider  the  progress  of  creation,  from  the  rudi- 
mental  forms  of  the  earliest  geological  periods  to  the  highly  organized 
beings  which  occupy  the  earth  at  the  present  time;  or  if  we  study  one 
natural  appearance  after  another  and  see  how  plainly  each  bears  wit- 
ness to  the  existence  of  a  higher  law,  an  eternal  idea  which  determines 
its  appearance,  and  then  again  combine  these  into  an  ascending  system 
of  excellence: — in  either  case  we  have  to  do  with  ideas  and  the  Ideal; 
and  so  with  everlasting  truth,  the  inner  nature  of  things,  the  soul,  and 
immortal  interests;  for  the  ideal  is  the  abiding,  the  eternal.  As 
Schopenhauer  says: 

"  For  thousands  of  years  a  chemical  force  slumbered  in  matter  until 
the  touch  of  re-agents  set  it  free;  then  it  appeared,  but  time  is  only  for 
the  appearance  not  for  the  force  itself.  For  thousands  of  years  galvan- 
ism slept  in  copper  and  zinc,  and  they  both  lay  resting  over  against 
silver,  which  as  soon  as  all  three  are  combined  under  proper  conditions 
must  burst  out  in  flames.  Even  in  a  dry  seed-corn  for  three  thousand 
years  the  slumbering  force  lay  hidden  which  in  the  final  appearance  of 
suitable  circumstances  bursts  out  as  plant.  But,  as  before,  time  is  not 
for  the  idea  itself,  but  only  for  its  appearance." 

Again,  let  us  observe  further  that  in  no  single  individual  is  its  own 
ideal  fully  realized.  Even  in  the  lowest  types,  as  crystals,  it  is  rare  to 
find  fully  formed  specimens,  but  rather  they  mostly  appear  with  a  corner 
broken  here,  a  line  or  proportion  distorted  there,  and  so  on.  On  the 
higher  plane  of  plant-life  the  difficulty  of  discovering  a  perfect  speci- 
men is  much  greater.  In  one  the  branches  are  not  symmetrical;  in 
another  the  stem  is  distorted;  even  a  single  perfect  leaf  is  rarely  seen. 
A  perfectly  formed  animal  is  equally  rare.  Whether  belonging  to  the 
lowest  grades  of  animal  life  or  the  highest,  or  at  any  intermediate  place 
in  the  scale,  in  almost  every  individual  we  find  some  imperfection  or 
other;  a  hard  winter,  a  season  of  famine,  an  untimely  and  unsuccessful 
struggle  for  supremacy; — some  one  or  all  of  these  have  interfered  with 
the  development  of  the  animal,  and  have  left  their  mark  of  imperfection 
upon  him.  In  man  is  this  much  more  the  case.  A  form  perfect  in  all 
its  proportions  we  never  see.  It  is  even  difficult  to  discover  perfectly 
proportioned  single  members.  In  his  mental  disposition,  likewise,  the 


58  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

same  imperfect  results  are  observed.  For  wherever  we  search  we  dis- 
cover no  complete  man;  but  on  the  contrary  unbalanced  faculties,  con- 
tradictory impulses,  imperfectly  developed  reasoning  powers,  undis- 
ciplined affections,  and  in  short  a  general  want  of  harmony  and  coher- 
ence in  the  manifold  capacities  of  the  soul. 

Nevertheless,  in  all  these  innumerable  degrees  of  manifestation, 
the  Ideal  itself  remains  steadfast  and  eternal.  For  although  we  may 
not  be  able  to  discover  a  single  individual  but  lacks  some  element  of 
perfection  or  grace,  yet  we  have  at  least  our  idea  of  the  average  excel- 
lence of  many  individuals  of  the  same  class,  and  in  this  an  imperfect 
ideal.  Beyond  and  above  this,  again,  is  the  much  higher  ideal  arrived 
at  by  collecting  all  the  most  eminent  perfections  ever  known  in  indi- 
viduals of  a  given  class,  and  combining  these  together  into  the  concep- 
tion of  a  more  perfect  crystal,  plant,  animal,  or  character  than  any  one 
has  even  seen  realized. 

In  like  manner,  there  is  no  delicacy  or  splendor  of  color,  nor  any 
sweetness  and  harmony  of  tone,  no  pleasant  savor  or  odor,  no  symmetry 
or  grace  of  form,  nor  any  magnificence  of  mental  endowment  or  genius 
of  any  kind,  but  that  beyond  it  one  immediately  imagines  something 
more  satisfactory  and  complete.  Thus  in  all  these,  the  sensuous  and 
the  purely  spiritual  as  well,  we  have  our  human  ideals  which  we  form 
by  collecting  and  combining  separate  perfections.  These  remain 
steadfast,  or  become  constantly  more  complete  in  spite  of  the  counter- 
acting influence  of  the  discovery  of  imperfections  in  individuals. 
Beyond  these,  again,  exists  the  true  ideal,  perfectly  known  only  to 
God,  but  in  some  feeble  degree  imaginable  to  the  specially  gifted  or 
inspired;  and  these  are  the  naturalists,  statemen,  prophets,  seers, 
artists  and  poets  of  the  world,  who  all  find  their  true  distinction  in 
their  successful  divination  and  communication  of  the  ideal. 

Under  the  term  Ideal,  therefore,  we  properly  include 
every  thing  that  is  eternal  and  true.  Any  object  in  nature 
or  art  is  ideal  according  as  it  manifests  in  outward  form 
the  inner  nature  of  the  Ideal. 

There  are  three  great  phases  of  the  ideal  which  include  within 
themselves  all  possible  grades  of  goodness  and  excellence;  and  imply 
as  opposites  all  grades  of  imperfection  and  wrong.  These  all  inclusive 
phases  are  the  TRUE,  the  BEAUTIFUL,  and  the  GOOD. 

Under  the  name  True  we  include  not  only  all  truthfulness  of 
statement  and  teaching,  whether  relating  to  material  objects,  to  history, 


THE  DESIGN  AND  SCOPE  OF  ART.  59 

or  to  speculation,  hut  also  all  genuineness  and  consistency,  or  the  quality 
of  agreement  between  the  appearance  and  the  real  nature  in  any 
material  thing  or  person. 

The  conception  we  call  Goodness  relates  to  the  moral  nature,  and 
involves  in  it  the  idea  of  the  exercise  of  benevolence  and  love  as  the 
habitual  motive  of  action.  This  form  of  the  ideal  is  that  habitually 
appealed  to  in  religion.  In  its  lower  applications  it  involves  the  idea 
of  fitness,  suitability,  adaptation  to  a  proposed  end. 

The  ideal  we   call  the   Beautiful  involves  in  it  predominantly  the 

.  quality  of  perfection  of  appearance,  and  is  expressed  in  forms  addressed 

to    sense-perception,    or    to    the    inner    senses.       Truth    is   primarily 

addressed  to  the  intellect;  Goodness  to  the  moral  nature;  Beauty  to 

the  senses. 

All  these,  the  True,  the  Beautiful  and  the  Good,  unite 
in  the  One  Ideal,  GOD. 

All  qualities  of  the  ideal  whether  in  material  things, 
animals,  or  personal  character,  are  but  reflections,  imperfect 
appearances,  or  intimations  of  the  Divine. 

SECTION    SECOND.       THE    DESIGN    AND    SCOPE    OF    ART. 

Art  has  for  its  object  the  expression  of  the  Ideal  in  sense-form  ; 
or,  which  means  the  same  thing,  the  expression  of  the  Beautiful. 

"  The  sole  principle  of  Art  is  cognition  of  the  ideal;  its  sole  design 
the  communication  of  this  knowledge.  While  Science,  tracing  the 
restless  and  inconstant  stream  of  manifold  principles  and  sequences,  in 
each  point  reached  finds  always  something  further,  and  never  a  last 
limit,  nor  yet  ever  can  find  complete  satisfaction  (just  as  little  as  one 
by  running  can  reach  the  point  where  clouds  touch  the  horizon);  Art, 
on  the  other  hand,  is  already  at  the  limit.  She  arrests  the  object  of 
her  contemplation  out  of  the  stream  of  the  world-course,  and  holds  it 
isolated.  And  this  Single,  which  in  the  stream  was  but  alittle  vanish- 
ing part,  becomes  for  her  a  representative  of  the  whole,  an  Equivalent 
of  the  endless  Many  in  space  and  time.  She  remains  fast,  therefore, 
by  this  separate.  She  stops  the  wheel  of  time;  relations  vanish  for 
her;  only  the  essential,  the  Idea,  is  the  object. 

"We  can,  therefore,  straightway  designate  Art  as  the  examination 
of  things  in  their  eternal  nature  and  meaning,  in  contrast  to  the  exami- 
nation of  things  in  their  temporal  aspects,  which  is  the  way  of  sense- 
perception  and  knowledge.  This  latter  mode  is  an  endless,  like  a 


60  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

horizontal  line;  the  former  is  a  perpendicular  cutting  the  horizon- 
tal line  at  a  chosen  point.  The  usual  mode  of  examining  things  is  the 
reasonable  one,  which  in  practical  life,  as  in  science,  is  alone  valid  and 
profitable.  The  other  is  in  Art  the  only  valid  and  profitable.  The 
scientific  is  the  mode  of  Aristotle;  the  artistic,  in  the  main,  that  of  Plato. 
The  first  is  like  the  furious  storm,  which  hurries  along  without  begin- 
ing  or  limit,  bends,  moves,  and  carries  every  thing  along  with  it;  the 
second  like  the  quiet  sunbeam  which  cuts  its  way  through  the  storm 
entirely  unmoved  by  it.  The  first  like  the  innumerable,  tempestuously- 
moving  drops  of  the  water-fall,  which,  constantly  changing,  suffer  no 
glance  to  linger  upon  them;  the  second  like  the  rainbow  resting  in 
stillness  upon  this  tumultuous  crowd."* 

The  Powers  of  Art  are  thus  broadly  defined  by  Hegel:  "It  is 
the  task  and  scope  of  art  to  bring  to  our  perception  and  spiritual 
realization  all  that  in  our  thought  has  a  place  in  the  human  spirit. 
That  well-known  sentence,  Nihil  humani  a  me  alienum  puto,  Art 
shall  realize  in  us." 

Its  design  is,  therefore  :  To  awaken  and  to  animate  the 
slumbering  feelings,  desires  and  passions  of  all  kinds ;  to  fill 
the  heart  and  to  permit  to  be  conscious  in  man  everything 
developed  and  undeveloped  which  human  feeling  can 
carry,  experience,  and  bring  forth,  in  its  innermost  and  most 
secret  parts;  whatever  the  human  heart  in  its  manifold 
possibilities  and  moods  desires  to  move  and  excite;  and 
especially  whatever  the  spirit  has  in  its  thought  and  in  the 
Idea  of  the  most  Essential  and  High;  the  glory  of  the 
Honored,  Eternal,  and  True. 

"  It  may  also  express  unhappiness  and  misery,  in  order  thus  to 
make  wickedness  and  criminality  conceivable,  and  to  permit  the 
human  heart  to  share  every  thing  horrible  and  dreadful,  as  well  as  all 
joy  and  happiness.  Then  fancy  may  at  last  indulge  herself  in  vain 
sport  of  the  imagination,  and  run  riot  in  the  ensnaring  magic  of  sensu- 
ously entrancing  contemplation." 

That  is  to  say  :  It  is  within  the  power  of  Art  to  portray  the  entire 
content  of  the  human  spirit;  its  evil  no  less  than  its  good.  Neverthe- 
less the  proper  mission  of  Art,  as  the  expression  of  Beauty,  forbids 

*Schopenhauer. 


CONDITIONS  OF  ART  AND  OF  ITS  ENJOYMENT  61 

the  representation  of  the  evil  except  in  so  far  as  it  can  be  used  for 
contrast  in  order  thereby  to  reveal  a  deeper  beauty.  Any  use  of  evil 
in  art  other  than  in  this  subjection  to  good,  makes  false  art. 

SECTION   THIRD.      CONDITIONS   OF   AET   AND    OF    ITS   ENJOYMENT. 

The  effectiveness  of  Art  rests  primarily  upon  the  fact 
that  our  knowledge  of  the  outer  world  comes  in  through 
sensation  and  sense-perception,  and  thus  first  reaches  the 
feelings  and  will.  Therefore,  whether  it  is  the  external 
reality  itself  which  occupies  the  attention,  or  only  the  appear- 
ance of  it  (as  in  pictures,  drawings,  or  representations)  "by 
means  of  which  a  scene,  or  relation,  or  life-moment  of  any 
kind  is  brought  to  us, — it  remains  for  our  soul  the  same,  in 
order  to  depress  or  rejoice  us  according  to  the  nature  of 
such  an  idea,  to  stir  and  excite  and  to  thrill  us  with  the 
feelings  and  passions  of  anger,  hatred,  and  sympathy;  of 
anxiety,  fear,  love,  esteem,  and  wonder ;  of  Honor  and  of 
Glory. 

"  This  waking  up  of  all  sensations  in  us,  the  education  of  our  feel- 
ings through  each  life-picture;  to  set  in  operation  all  these  inner 
movements  through  a  merely  deceptive  external  presence — it  is  which 
is  especially  seen  as  the  peculiar,  unexcelled  power  of  art. 

"Nevertheless,  Art  in  this  manner,  impresses  good  and  bad  upon 
the  feelings  and  ideas;  and  the  design  should  be  to  strengthen  it  to  the 
noblest,  so  as  to  nerve  it  up  to  the  most  thoughtful  and  useful  inspira- 
tions." (Hegel.) 

In  all  art- work  we  have  to  do  with  two  elements,  "first 
a  content,  design,  meaning ;  then  the  expression,  representa- 
tion and  realization  of  this  content ;  and  both  sides  so  brought 
together  that  the  outer  and  material  is  presented  only  as  the 
representation  of  the  inner,  and  not  otherwise ;  as  that  which 
the  covering  has  received  and  expressed  out  of  the  content"* 

The  Fine  Arts  are  Architecture,  Sculpture,  Painting,  Music,  and 
Poetry  (including  all  imaginative  composition).  Each  one  of  these 

*Hegel. 


62  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

seeks  to  express  the  beautiful  in  its  own  way,  according  to  the  nature 
and  capacity  of  the  material  through  which  it  works. 

In  order  to  thoroughly  appreciate  and  justly  estimate  any  master- 
work  of  art,  therefore,  we  need  to  consider  its  conception  or  intention, 
and  the  technical  merits  of  its  execution.  Hence,  the  intention  of  the 
previous  parts  of  the  present  work  has  been  to  lead  to  an  intelligent 
observation  of  the  more  external  qualities  of  music  as  a  form  of  art. 
This  having  been  measurably  accomplished,  we  here  enter  upon  a 
consideration  of  the  content  or  meaning  of  music,  in  doing  which  we 
find  it  most  convenient  and  helpful  to  inquire  also  concerning  the 
scope  and  meaning  of  all  the  arts,  as  well  as  the  leading  characteristics 
of  the  beautiful  itself  which  they  all  have  for  their  ideal. 

All  forms  of  the  Beautiful  as  we  saw 'in  the  beginning,  are  to 
be  enjoyed  through  contemplation  rather  than  thought.  A  beautiful 
sunset,  a  grand  mountain  view,  a  great  moment  in  history,  lose  their 
charm  of  beauty  or  grandeur  when  we  reason  about  them  and  occupy 
ourselves  with  an  inquiry  into  the  scientific  principles  underlying  them. 
The  drops  of  water  in  the  rainbow  are  but  ordinary  examples  of  the 
substance  chemically  known  as  HsO.  It  is  only  our  own  accidental 
position  with  regard  to  them  and  the  sun,  which  enables  us  to  perceive 
in  them  the  beautiful  token  of  God's  remembrance.  We  look,  and 
behold!  it  is  there!  We  approach  to  analyze  it,  and  lo!  it  is  gone. 

All  art  and  all  perception  and  enjoyment  of  the  beautiful,  come 
through  childlike  faith  and  openness  of  spirit. 

And  whenever  for  the  sake  of  study  and  knowledge  we  analyze 
an  art- work  in  order  to  surprise  the  secret  of  its  construction,  we 
need  to  re  create  it  again,  according  to  the  simple  directness  of  its 
meaning  as  art,  in  order  to  recover  its  charm  and  inspiration. 


OF  THE  NATURE  AND  MEANING  OF  THE  BEAUTIFUL.         63 

CHAPTER    TWENTY-THIRD. 

OF  THE  NATURE  AND  MEANING  OF  THE  BEAUTIFUL. 

Under  the  term  "  Beautiful "  are  included  an  innumerable  mani- 
fold of  meanings,  so  great  and  in  their  higher  reaches  so  glorious,  that 
language  fails  in  power  to  -express  them,  and  even  the  mind  is  lost 
amid  the  bewildering  splendor.  For  in  this  term  we  reckon  together 
all  that  is  pleasing  in  sensation,  contentful  and  satisfactory  in  con- 
templation, or  kindling  and  inspiring  in  spiritual  perception.  It  em- 
braces within  itself  every  graceful  and  lovely  existence  in  created  things, 
all  that  artists  have  represented,  poets  dreamed,  or  seer  and  revela- 
tor  made  known,  and  every  possibility  of  splendor,  glory,  and  excellence, 
which  the  longest  ages  of  eternity  shall  make  real  to  the  blessed. 

Since,  then,  the  Beautiful  itself  is  not  yet  fully  revealed,  it  is  no 
wonder  that  a  complete  and  satisfactory  discussion  of  the  subject  has 
never  been  made,  for  such  an  achievement  is  in  its  nature  impossible. 

Nevertheless,  every  act  of  aesthetic  judgment  involves  within  it 
the  determination  of  "beautiful"  or  "  un-beautiful,"  and  hence  the 
soundness  of  our  subsequent  progress  in  the  present  studies  requires 
of  us  here  such  preliminary  consideration  of  this  wonderful  ideal  as  we 
may  be  able  to  attain  to.  Of  all  writers  on  this  subject  Ruskin  is  the 
most  eloquent  and  suggestive,  though  perhaps  not  the  most  complete 
in  scientific  form.  The  liberty  is  taken,  therefore,  of  availing  our- 
selves of  his  words,  to  piece  out  the  more  systematic,  rational,  and 
practical  classification  we  find  ready  to  our  hand  in  Lotze's  work  on 
"  ^Esthetics  in  Germany  "  ("  Aesthetik  in  Deutschland  "  by  Hermann 
Lotze,  Munich,  1868). 

"  By  the  term  beauty,"  says  Ruskin,*  "  properly  are  signified  two 
things.  First,  that  external  quality  of  bodies,  which,  whether  it  occurs 
in  a  stone,  flower,  beast,  or  in  man,  is  absolutely  identical,  which,  as  I 
have  already  asserted,  may  be  shown  to  be  in  some  sort  typical  of  the 
Divine  attributes,  and  which,  therefore,  I  shall,  for  distinction's  sake, 
call  typical  beauty;  and,  secondarily,  the  appearance  of  felicitous  full- 
filment  of  function  in  living  things,  more  especially  of  the  joyful 
and  right  exercise  of  perfect  life  in  man.  And  this  kind  of  beauty  I 
shall  call  vital  beauty. 

*"  Modern  Painters,"  Vol.  II.,  p.  27. 


64  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

"  Any  application  of  the  word  beautiful  to  other  appearances  or 
qualities  than  these,  is  either  false  or  metaphorical,  as,  for  instance  to 
the  splendor  of  a  discovery,  the  fitness  of  a  proportion,  the  coherence 
of  a  chain  of  reasoning,  or  the  power  of  bestowing  pleasure  which 
objects  receive  from  association,  a  power  confessedly  great,  and  inter- 
fering, as  we  shall  presently  find,  in  a  most  embarrassing  way  with 
the  attractiveness  of  real  beauty." 

All  modes  or  degrees  of  the  Beautiful  may  be  counted  in  three 
categories.  These  are:  (1.)  The  Pleasing  in  Sensation.  (2.)  The 
Satisfactory  in  Contemplation,  and  (3.)  Beauty  of  Reflection. 

SECTION    FIRST.        THE    PLEASING    IN    SENSATION. 

All  the  faculties  of  sense-perception  and  sensation  are  susceptible 
of  pleasurable  exercise,  but  none  of  them  awaken  in  us  sensations  of  a 
distinctly  elevated  character  save  only  the  two  ideal  senses  of  sight 
and  hearing. 

These  are  the  two  avenues  along  which  most  of  the  ideas  come 
which  relate  us  to  the  kingdom  of  spirtual  existence.  In  the  pleasur- 
able exercise  of  these  senses  there  is  not  only  the  vision  of  intelligence 
and  the  voice  of  wisdom,  but  a  manifold  and  entirely  pure  and  proper 
pleasure  of  sensation  as  such. 

This  we  have  in  the  purity,  contrasts,  harmonies,  and  sequences 
of  color,  such  as  form  a  material  foundation  for  our  enjoyment  of 
beauty  or  gorgeousness  in  nature  or  art. 

So,  also,  in  tone,  we  have  the  various  grades  of  consonance,  and 
especially  the  contrasts  and  agreeable  combinations  and  gradations  of 
tone- color  as  in  orchestral  works,  and  in  human  voices.  Of  this  kind, 
also,  is  the  pleasure  derivable  from  chromatically  modulating  chords, 
such  as  we  find  in  the  works  of  Spohr  and  Gounod,  and  very  often 
in  Italian  opera;  where  no  idea  is  suggested  or  intended,  but  only  the 
sweet,  the  pretty,  the  well-sounding. 

All  these  are  unmistakably  pleasurable,  and  at  the  same  time 
allied  to  the  perception  of  the  beautiful.  They  all  have  implications 
which  suggest  higher  qualities  of  the  beautiful,  as  one  may  see  below 
in  Ruskin's  words  on  Purity. 

"  PURITY,  the  Type  of  the  Divine  Energy.  —  The  only  idea 
which  I  think  can  be  legitimately  connected  with  purity  of  mat- 
ter, is  this  of  vital  and  energetic  connection  among  its  parti- 
cles, and  that  the  idea  of  foulness  is  essentially  connected  with  dis- 
solution and  death.  Thus  the  purity  of  the  rock,  contrasted  with 
the  foulness  of  dust  or  mould,  is  expressed  by  the  epithet  '  living,' 


OF  COUNTERPOINT.  17 

Again,  observe  this  Invention  of  Bach's,  in  E  minor.  In  the  first 
part  there  is  no  contrapuntal  motion;  but  with  the  second  period  it 
begins.  Observe.  (Also  referred  to  in  the  next  lesson.) 

Listen  now  to  this  church  tune,  "  Dennis."  Is  it  contrapuntal 
or  not? 

Listen  to  this  Chorale.  Is  this  contrapuntal  or  not?  If  contra- 
puntal, in  which  part  does  the  counterpoint  lie?  (It  may  be  proper  to 
say  that  the  counterpoint  in  this  piece  is  of  the  kind  called  "  note 
against  note,"  with  occasional  "passing"  notes;  and  that  the  principal 
counterpoint  is  the  bass.) 

Observe,  again,  the  Bach  Invention  in  E  min.,  No.  7,  in  the  Three- 
part  Inventions.  In  the  first  thirteen  measures  there  is  not  what  is 
called  a  "contrapuntal  motion."  In  the  fourteenth  measure  such  a 
"  motion  "  begins  in  the  bass,  and  from  that  point  onwards  for  twenty- 
three  measures  there  is  a  contrapuntal  motion  of  sixteenth  notes, 
interrupted  only  by  the  omission  of  a  single  sixteenth  note  at  the 
beginning  of  its  twelfth  measure.  The  motive  is  transferred  from  one 
part  to  another;  for  four  measures  it  runs  in  the  bass,  then  for  five 
measures  it  alternates  between  the  soprano  and  alto;  it  is  then  trans- 
ferred to  the  bass  for  four  measures;  the  soprano  retains  it  during  the 
remaining  ten  measures.  In  listening  to  this,  one  should  also  observe 
that  the  leading  motive  of  the  piece  is  constantly  transferred  from  one 
key  to  another,  and  one  voice  to  another. 

Counterpoint  gives  dignity  to  a  music-piece.  It  does  this  because 
it  displays  intelligence,  and  that  in  such  a  way  as  to  heighten  the 
musical  quality  of  the  piece. 

MUSICAL  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  Hold  the  Fort.    (Any  other  popular  song  will  do  as  well,  e.  g.,  Dr.  Lowell 

Mason's  "  Work,  for  the  Night  is  Coming.") 

2.  Ewing's  "  Jerusalem  the  Golden." 

3.  Gavotte  in  D,  Bach.     (Arranged  by  Dr.  Wm.  Mason.) 

4.  Gavotte  in  D  min.,  Bach.     (Pieces  Favoris,  Bach.    Edition  Peters.) 
3.  Bach's  Three-part  Invention  in  E  min.,  No.  7.    (Peters.) 

6.  Church  Tune,  "  Dennis." 

7.  Chorale,  "  St.  Paul,"  "  Sleepers,  Wake." 


18  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

LESSOR    SIXTH. 

VARIATIONS. 

The  lesson  to-day  begins  with  the  following  air  from  the  Andante 
of  Beethoven's  Sonata  in  G,  op.  14.  This  will  be  played  twice  in  order 
to  fix  it  in  your  memory.  (Plays  twenty  measures.) 

Observe  now  the  following  strain  and  see  if  it  has  any  resemblance 
to  the  previous.  (Plays  the  next  ensuing  twenty  measures.) 

In  what  respect  is  this  like  the  air  at  beginning?  Listen  now  to 
the  harmony  of  the  first  eight  measures.  (Plays  as  before.) 

Hear  also  this,  the  harmony  of  the  first  eight  of  the  sixteen  meas- 
ures last  played. 


Ex.7. 


i       i      i       i        i       i       i 

d      d      d. d d d     & 

•*     -*     •*     •&•       -*•*«• 


It  will  be  seen  that  they  are  exactly  the  same,  except  that  the 
melody  is  now  in  a  middle  voice. 

Observe  now  the  melody  of  the  first  eight  measures.  (Plays  again 
eight  meas.  of  air.)  And  the  melody  of  the  eight  measures  played  after- 
wards. You  perceive  that  the  melody  is  the  same,  although  in  the 
latter  case  it  is  assigned  to  the  tenor.  The  accompaniment,  however, 
is  considerably  elaborated,  and  comes  above  the  melody;  the  time  also 
is  cut  up  into  half  and  quarter  beats.  We  have  here  a  variation  in  the 
form  of  the  air.  The  melody  and  harmony  are  the  same;  merely  the 
form  of  them  is  changed  without  imparting  any  essentially  new  mean- 
ing 'to  the  air.  Observe  now  the  second  variation  of  the  same  air. 
(Plays.)  In  this  you  hear  the  melody  in  the  soprano,  but  entering 
always  on  the  half-beat.  When  it  is  played  on  the  beat  you  at  once 
recognize  it.  (Plays  air  in  simple  form.)  This,  also,  as  you  see  is 
merely  a  variation  in  the  form.  The  harmony  and  melody  are  the  same 
as  before,  and  there  is  therefore  no  new  meaning  except  such  as  is  derived 
from  or  denoted  by  the  increasing  animation  and  complexity  of  rhyth- 
mic motion. 


VARIATIONS.  19 

The  next  variation  is  a  little  more  elusive  in  character.     It  begins: 
Ex.  8. 


•»- A  4— 

= 


When  played  softly  the  melody  is  not  distinctly  perceived,  but 
seems  to  be  looking  out  at  us  through  a  veil.  If  the  upper  notes  of  the 
right  hand  part  are  played  alone  (as  indicated  by  the  accent  marks,) 
it  is  at  once  perceived  that  we  have  here  the  melody  in  its  original 
form.  Here  also  the  melody  and  harmony  are  unchanged,  and  here 
again,  consequently,'  we  have  no  essentially  new  meaning. 

Consider  now  the  following  air  from  Beethoven's  Sonata  in  A  flat, 
op.  26.  (Plays  air.)  Observe  now  the  first  variation.  (Plays.)  Here 
we  have  a  more  decided  departure  from  the  original.  The  harmony 
remains  the  same;  enough  of  the  melody  remains  unchanged  to  enable 
the  listener  to  refer  it  to  the  air  just  heard  as  its  source.  Still  it  is  in 
several  respects  a  new  air. 

The  second  vaiiation  makes  a  still  wider  departure.  (Plays.) 
Here  you  observe  that  the  melody  is  cut  up  into  repeating  notes,  and 
placed  in  the  bass.  In  the  third  variation  the  key  is  changed  to  the 
minor  of  the  same  name,  and  the  original  harmonic  figure  is  carried  out 
in  syncopation,  producing  a  distortive  effect,  not  unlike  that  of  viewing 
your  face  in  a  bad  mirror.  In  the  fourth  variation  we  have  the  air  trans- 
formed into  a  scherzo,  a  playful  movement,  as  different  as  possible  from 
the  repose  of  the  original  air.  The  fifth  variation,  again,  brings  back 
the  original  air,  but  much  ornamented. 

In  both  these  sets  of  variations  is  to  be  observed  the  same  law  of 
progression,  namely,  from  the  simple  towards  greater  variety  and  di- 
versification. The  coda  at  the  end  of  the  last  set  was  for  the  purpose  of 
conducting  the  movement  back  again  to  a  natural  repose. 

These  variations  in  the  last  set  (A  flat,  op.  26)  are  of  a  different  kind 
from  those  first  examined.  In  these  not  only  is  the  form  of  the  original 
air  diversified,  and  in  that  way  varied,  but  the  variations  are  of  such  a 
nature  that  they  have  the  effect  of  imparting  or  bringing  out  a  new 
meaning  in  each  variation.  Beethoven  was  the  great  composer  of  this 
form  of  variation. 

Let  us  examine  another  set  of  variations  by  Beethoven,  his  Eight 


20  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

Variations  on  the  theme  "  Une  Fiebre  brulante,"  by  Gretry,  found  in  the 
volume  of  "Beethoven's  Variations."  Each  one  of  these  is  to  be  com- 
pared with  the  theme  until  its  construction  is  obvious,  and  its  relation 
to  the  theme  plainly  understood.  Another  example  of  formal  varia- 
tions is  to  be  found  in  the  Andante  and  variations  of  Beethoven's  Sonata 
Appassionata,  op.  57.  (Billow's  edition.)  See  also  Mozart's  variations  in 
A,  in  one  of  his  sonatas  (No.  12,  Peters'  edition). 

12.  A  variation  of  an  air  is  an  amplification  of  it,  or 
unfolding,  by  means  of  auxiliary  notes,  rhythmic  devices, 
changes  of  movement,  etc.,  yet  in  such  a  way  as  to  leave 
resemblance   enough   between  the  theme  and  variation  to 
indicate  their  relation. 

In  order  to  do  this  and  yet  allow  the  varying  to  be  carried  to  the 
full  extent  of  the  composer's  genius,  it  is  usual  to  arrange  the  series  of 
variations  progressively  according  to  their  elaboration,  the  simplest  first. 

13.  Variations  are  of  two  kinds,  Formal  and  Charac- 
ter.    In  the  former  the  air  or  theme  is  elaborated  without 
changing  its  original  meaning  or  expression.     Of  this  kind 
are  the  Beethoven  variations  in  C  and  D<5  (Nos.  1  and  5, 
below).     Character  variations  change  the  original  character 
or  expression  of  the  melody,  as  was  seen  in  the  Beethoven 
variations  in  A6. 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  Andante  from  Beethoven's  Sonata  in  G,  op.  14,  No.  2. 

2.  Air  and  Variations  in  A6.  from  Sonata,  op.  26. 

3.  Variations  on  Gretry's  "  Une  Fiebre  brulante,"  Beethoven. 

4.  Air  and  Variations  in  A,  No.  12  of  Peters'  ed.  of  Mozart's  Sonatas. 

5.  Andante  and  Variations  from  Beethoven's  Sonata  Appassionata. 


RHYTHMIC  PULSATION  AND  MEASURE.  21 


LESSOR    SEVENTH. 


RHYTHMIC    PULSATION   AND    MEASURE 

14.  Rhythm  means  "measured  flow." 

Music  is  measured  by  a  pulsation  which  goes  entirely  through  the 
movement  at  the  same  rate  of  speed,  like  the  human  pulse.  This  funda- 
mental rhythmic  pulsation  is  commonly  expressed  by  the  accompani- 
ment. Observe  now  the  accompaniment  of  this  little  waltz.  (Plays 
left-hand  part  of  the  first  Schubert  waltz.)  Beat  with  your  hands  on 
the  table  before  you,  the  same  pulsation  while  I  play. 

Mark  the  pulsation  in  the  example  I  now  play.  (Plays  No.  2,  in 
the  list.) 

In  the  same  manner  mark  the  pulsation  in  the  example,  I  now  play. 
(Plays  a  polka,  No.  3,  or  any  other  convenient  one;  but  not  too  fast. 
Be  sure  that  it  sounds  here  like  four  beats  in  the  measure.) 

-  These  pulsations  are  grouped  by  means  of  accents  into  groups 
called  measures. 

There  may  be  two,  three,  four,  six,  nine  or  twelve  pulsations  in  a 
measure.  Observe  now  the  following,  mark  the  pulsations  and  the 
accents,  and  tell  me  how  many  pulsations  there  are  in  a  measure. 
(Plays  No.  1,  again.  Be  sure  that  every  measure  has  a  decided  accent.) 

Observe  the  following:  (Plays  No.  4.) 

How  many  pulsations  are  there  in  a  measure  in  this  example? 
(Plays  No.  5.) 

Mark  the  pulsation  in  No.  6.     (Plays.) 

Observe  now  the  measures  in  the  same.  (Plays  again.)  How 
many  pulsations  were  there  in  a  measure?  (If  not  correctly  answered, 
repeat  the  example  and  accent  a  little  more.) 

Observe  the  pulsation  in  this  example.  (Plays  No.  7.)  This 
admits  of  being  understood  in  two  ways:  If  played  slowly  it  sounds 
like  six  pulsations  in  a  measure.  (Plays.)  If  played  more  rapidly  and 
accented  a  little  differently,  it  sounds  like  two  triplets  in  the  measure, 
and  you  naturally  beat  it  as  if  there  were  two  pulsations  in  a  measure. 
(Plays.) 

Observe  the  pulsation  in  this  example.     (Plays  No.  8.) 


22  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

Observe  now  the  measures  and  tell  me  how  many  pulsations  in  a 
measure.  (Plays  again.) 

Mark  the  pulsation  in  this  example.     (Plays  No.  9). 

How  many  pulsations  in  a  measure?     (Plays  again  if  necessary.) 

Observe  the  pulsation  and  the  measures  in  this  example.  (Plays 
No.  10.) 

Observe  further  that  the  same  pulsation  runs  through  an  entire 
movement.  (Plays  No.  11,  the  class  marking  the  pulsation  by  a  motion 
of  the  hand  for  each  pulse,  paying  no  attention  to  the  measures.) 

NOTE  : — There  are  two  opinions  in  regard  to  the  ultimate  nature  of  measure, 
one  holding  it  to  be  "  a  portion  of  time,"  the  other  "  a  group  of  pulses."  The 
true  conclusion  would  seem  lo  be  that  measure  in  music  is  "  portion  of  time  " 
manifested  by  means  of  pulses  and  accents.  Measure  is  the  precise  analogue  of 
foot  in  poetry.  Poetic  quantity  is  also  related  to  time.  We  ourselves,  and  every 
thing  that  we  know  by  our  senses  or  think  of  under  sense-forms  of  thought,  are 
related  to  time  or  space.  Music  is  related  to  time,  and  so  is  meter.  The  time  of 
music  is  in  the  rhythmic  pulsation,  measure,  and  rate  of  movement.  And  so 
measure  in  its  ultimate  nature  is  certainly  time;  but  time  is  not  measure  until  it 
becomes  recognized  as  such  through  the  rhythmic  pulsation  and  accent:  and 
therefore  it  is  sufficiently  correct  for  musical  purposes  to  think  of  measure  as 
pulse-grouping,  as  is  here  done. 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  The  First  of  the  Schubert  Waltzes. 

2.  Schumann's  Nachtstiicke  in  F,  op.  24,  No.  4. 

3.  A  Polka,  e.g.  Karl  Merz's  "  Leonore  Polka." 

4.  The  Waltz  from  Weber's  "  Der  Freyschiltz."     (Any  other  quick  waltz  will  do 

as  well.) 

5.  Schubert's  Menuetto  in  B  minor. 

6.  Two  strains  from  the  Schumann  Nachtstticke  in  C,  op.  24,  No.  1. 

7.  "The  Carnival  of  Venice." 

8.  Chopin  Polonaise  in  A. 

9.  Sixteen  measures  of  the  Adagio  in  Sonata  Pathetique. 

10.  Thirty-two  measures  of  Rondo  in  same  sonata. 

11.  Allegro  from  Sonata  in  F,  op.  2,  No.  1,  Beethoven. 


MEASURES  AND  RHYTHMIC  MOTION.  23 

LESSOR    EIGHTH. 

MEASURES  AND  RHYTHMIC  MOTION. 

Begin  this  lesson  by  recapitulating  enough  of  the  previous  one  to 
refresh  the  memories  of  the  class  concerning  measures.  Use,  if  con- 
venient, other  examples,  only  be  sure  to  select  at  least  two,  each,  in 
double,  triple  and  common  time. 

15.  A  rhythmic  pulsation  may  be  called  a  rhythmic 
motion,  and,  when  satisfactorily  completed  by  an  accent, 
is  called  a  Rhythm. 

(Plays  here  a  scale  in  common  time,  like  that  in  "  table  A,"  in 
Mason's  Pianoforte  Technics.) 

The  rhythmic  motion  may  be  twice  as  fast  as  the  pulsation.  Thus, 
e.g.,  the  Adagio  in  Beethoven's  Sonata  Pathetique  is  written  in  2-4 
time  with  a  pulsation  of  sixteenth  notes.  The  effect  is  as  if  you  were 
to  count  four  in  a  measure  and  each  pulse  had  two  notes.  (Plays.) 
Counting  four  in  a  measure,  the  motion  here  is  a  half-pulse  motion. 

Example  nine  of  the  previous  chapter  had  the  same  kind  of  motion. 
Observe  the  bass,  and  at  the  same  time  count  the  time  aloud  while  I 
play.  (Plays.) 

Observe  now  the  first  nineteen  measures  of  Beethoven's  first  sonata, 
example  eleven  of  the  previous  chapter.  Mark  the  pulsations  and 
measures,  and  tell  me  whether  it  is  a  pulse-motion  or  a  half-pulse 
motion.  (Plays.  This  must  be  repeated  until  the  pupils  are  conscious 
of  the  quarter-note  motion  which  is  unmistakable  in  the  first  nine 
measures,  and  strongly  implied  in  the  first  nineteen.) 

Observe  again  how  the  motion  changes  in  the  twentieth  measure. 
(Plays  again  from  the  beginning  through  to  the  double  bar.)  From 
the  twentieth  to  the  forty-first  measure  there  is  what  sort  of  a  motion  ? 
("  Half-pulse."  But  play  it  until  they  observe  it.)  What  kind  of  a 
motion  begins  at  the  forty-first  measure?  (Quarter-pulse.  Plays  it.) 

Observe  now  example  five,  especially  in  regard  to  the  change  of 
motion.  What  sort  of  a  motion  has  it  at  beginning?  (Plays,  "Pulse- 
motion.")  Where  the  motion  changes,  raise  your  hands.  (Plays  again. 
"  Half-pulse  "  motion  begins  in  tenth  measure  of  the  second  period.) 


24  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

Observe  the  trio  of  the  same.     What  sort  of  a  motion  has  it? 

(Plays.) 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  Scale  of  C  or  G  in  4s  {rhythm  completed). 

2.  Adagio  from  Sonata  Pathetique. 

3.  Rondo  of  same  Sonata. 

4.  Allegro  from  first  Sonata. 

5.  Menuetto  from  Beethoven's  Sonata  in  F  min.  (op.  2,  No.  1). 


LESSOR 

MEASURES,  RHYTHMIC  MOTION  AND  MOTIVIZATION. 

In  the  examples  of  the  previous  lessons  we  have,  observed  in 
every  piece  a  rhythmic  pulsation  carried  through  the  piece  at  a  uniform 
rate;  and  in  connection  with  this  a  full-pulse,  half-pulse  or  other  rhyth- 
mic motion,  which  changes  several  times  in  the  course  of  a  piece,  being 
generally  quicker  towards  the  last. 

Thus,  e.  g.  observe  the  first  eight  measures  of  Pauer's  "  Cascade." 
What  is  the  pulsation?  What  the  motion?  (Observe  the  half-pulse 
motion  in  the  bass.)  (Plays.) 

Observe  now  that  the  melody  has  a  certain  definite  motivization 
of  its  own.  Its  rhvthm  is 


Ex.9. 


r  r  u  if  r  r  r  i 


This  rhythmic  figure  is  repeated  over  and  over.  Observe  now  the 
rapid  motion  that  begins  after  the  theme  is  completed.  Here  we  have 
an  eighth-pulse  motion  in  the  fine  work,  a  half-pulse  motion  in  the 
bass,  and  a  full-pulse  motion  in  the  melody.  (Plays.) 

Observe  the  combination  of  measure-pulses,  rhythmic  motions  and 
motivization  in  the  Bach  Invention  in  E  min.  In  the  first  thirteen 
measures  there  is  a  half-pulse  motion,  except  the  fifth  measure,  which 
has  a  quarter-pulse  motion.  (Plays,  the  pupils  marking  the  measure- 
pulses  by  motions  of  the  hand.) 

Along  with  this  is  the  melodic  subject  which  runs  through  the 
piece.  Its  rhythm  is 

Ex- io-    s  c  if  i  r '  LLJ  i  r '  i 

At  the  fourteenth  measure  a  quarter-pulse  motiot  begins  in  the 
counterpoint  and  continues  for  twenty-three  measures.  (Plays.) 


MEASURES,  RHYTHMIC  MOTION  AND  MOTIVIZATION.         25 

Again,  take  the  Allegro  of  the  sonata  (No.  3,  on  the  list  of  this 
chapter).  This  is  in  6-8  time  and  has  the  effect  of  two  pulses  in  a 
measure.  Throughout  the  first  twenty-four  measures  there  is  a  triplet 
(or  "  third-pulse  ")  motion  transferred  from  bass  to  treble,  and  back 
again,  but  not  interrupted.  (Plays  twenty-five  measures.)  From  there 
to  the  thirty-ninth  measure  there  is  no  uniform  motion,  but  two  differ- 
ent rhythms  alternately  appear.  (Plays.)  From  the  thirty-ninth  to 
the  fifty-ninth  the  triplet  motion  appears  again.  At  this  point  the 
triplets  disappear  and  we  have  a  full  -pulse  motion  for  eight  measures. 

Observe,  again,  the  rhythm  of  this  polonaise.  (Plays  the  Chopin 
Polonaise  in  A,  No.  4,  of  the  list.)  Here  we  have  a  three-pulse  meas- 
ure, with  half  and  quarter-pulse  motion. 


At  the  entrance  of  the  second  subject  (in  D  maj.),  the  rhythm  of 
the  melody  changes  to  this  figure. 

Ex.i2.       p  r  ic  »gf  i 

Rhythm  is  the  primary  element  in  a  motive,  and  is  in  fact  that  to 
which  it  owes  its  name  of  motive,  or  mover. 

A  conspicuous  example  of  rhythmic  uniformity  carried  through 
almost  an  entire  long  movement  is  afforded  by  Beethoven's  Allegretto 
in  the  Seventh  Symphony,  which  moves  in  this  figure. 

Ex.  13. 


2*         0   0   \   0         0         0         000         0      I   '          0   0  \   0         0      \   0         0    0      &         I 

i  I      U  II      I      I      LI    I      ill      U  U      ill      U    I      I 

It  will  also  be  useful  to  study  the  manner  in  which  rhythmic 
characterization  of  subjects  is  managed  in  long  movements  generally; 
as  e.  g.  in  any  of  the  binary  and  ternary  forms  analyzed  in  the  second 
part  of  this  work.  (See  Lessons  Thirteenth  and  Fourteenth.) 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  Pauer's  Cascade. 

2.  Bach's  Invention  in  E  min.  (Three-part,  No.  7.) 

3.  Allegro  of  Sonata  in  E  flat  op.  7,  Beethoven. 

4.  Chopin's  Polonaise  in  A. 


PAET   SECOND. 


LESSONS  IN  MUSICAL  FORM. 


LESSON    TENTH. 

THE  ELEMENTARY  FORMS.    CLOSED  FORMS.    VAGUE. 
PERIOD-GROUPS. 

16.  A  Form  in  music  is  a  period,  or  group  of  periods 
belonging  together;  or  possibly  belonging  together  only  to 
the  extent  of  being  connected  with  each  other,  and  more  or 
less  contrasted  with  a  following  homogenous  and  well-closed 
period  group. 

By  "  well-closed  "  is  meant  "  fully  and  decidedly  closed."  Thus 
for  example,  observe  the  following  three  waltzes  of  Schubert.  (Plays 
the  first  three  numbers  in  Schubert's  Danses.)  The  first  has  for  its 
leading  motive  this: 


This  motive  occurs  six  times  in  the  first  two  periods.     The  second 
has  for  leading  motive  this: 


This  occurs  five  times  in  two  periods.  Analyze  the  third  in  the 
same  way. 

Observe,  again,  that  the  first  waltz  begins  and  ends  in  the  key  of 
A  flat.  So  also  the  second  and  third.  The  cadences  are  complete  and 
satisfactory.  This  will  be  better  observed  by  playing  the  accompani- 
ment alone. 

26 


THE  ELEMENTARY  FORMS,  ETC.  27 

Observe,  further,  that  the  first  two  periods  are  intimately  connected 
by  reason  of  the  predominance  of  the  same  leading  motive  in  both.  So 
also  are  the  two  periods  of  the  second  waltz.  Two  of  these  periods 
together,  make  "a  form."  The  two  periods  in  each  form  are  homo- 
genous, because  in  the  same  key  and  having  the  same  ruling  motive. 
Each  form  is  a  "  closed  form  "  because  it  concludes  in  its  own  principal 
key  and  is  shut  off  from  the  following  periods  by  the  entrance  of  new 
motives  and  a  new  movement. 

Again,  listen  to  the  first  twenty  measures  of  Beethoven's  first 
sonata,  in  F  min.  op.  2.  (Plays.)  Mention  the  periods.  There  are 
two  of  them.  The  first  ends  in  the  dominant  of  the  principal  key,  in 
the  eighth  measure.  The  second  begins  with  the  same  leading  motive, 
but  immediately  forsakes  it,  and  builds  with  the  second  motive  of  the 
first  period.  The  first  period  begins  in  F  minor,  and  ends  with  the 
dominant  of  it.  This  is  a  half-cadence,  and  denotes  incompleteness. 
The  second  begins  in  C  minor,  and  finally  ends  in  E  flat,  as  the  domi- 
nant of  A  flat,  the  key  of  the  next-following  period.  The  first  period 
is  the  principal  subject  of  this  sonata,  and  is  not  a  "  closed  form."  The 
second  period  is  modulatory  or  transitional,  and  is  designed  to  lead 
across  to  the  introduction  of  the  second  principal  subject,  which  enters 
at  the  last  beat  of  the  twentieth  measure. 

Take,  again,  the  Adagio  of  this  same  sonata.  Observe  the  periods 
of  the  first  sixteen  measures.  (Plays.)  Here,  again,  we  have  two 
periods.  They  are  homogenous,  because  the  second  period  concludes 
with  the  principal  motive  of  the  first,  and  in  the  same  key.  Both 
periods  begin  and  end  in  F  major.  They  are  sharply  cut  off  from  the 
next  following  periods,  because  these  latter  begin  in  a  new  key  and 
with  new  motives.  These  first  sixteen  measures,  therefore,  form  a 
homogenous  period-group  of  two  periods,  which  unite  to  make  "  a 
closed  form."  The  next  following  fifteen  measures  also  contain  two 
periods.  The  first  one  has  eleven  measures.  It  begins  in  D  minor. 
It  ends  in  C  major.  It  is  followed  by  an  abridged  period  of  four  meas- 
ures, or  perhaps  better,  an  independent  section  of  a  transitional  char- 
acter. These  two  periods  are  not  homogenous,  their  modulatory 
structure  is  vague,  and  therefore  they  do  not  unite  to  make  a  form. 

Observe  now  the  Menuetto  of  the  same  sonata.  (Plays.)  How 
many  Periods  have  we?  (Plays.)  The  first  subject  has  this  motive. 
(Plays  motive  of  Menuetto.)  When  the  form  is  complete  and  a  new 
one  enters,  say  "  Form."  (Plays.)  Class  listens  and  says  "  form  "  as 
the  forty-first  or  forty-second  measure  is  begun.  The  three  periods  in 
these  forty-one  measures  should  then  be  examined  again  in  order  to 


28  HOW  TO    UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

discover  whether  they  unite  to  make  a  homogenous  period-group,  and 
a  closed  form.  The  trio  may  then  be  examined  in  the  same  way. 

Examine  in  the  same  way  the  fi"st  sixteen  measures  of  the  Adagio 
of  Sonata  Pathetique.  Then  the  next  following  twelve  measures. 
Then  the  eight  measures  following  this  (the  repetition  of  the  theme.) 
And  the  fourteen  measures  following  this.  All  these  are  period- 
groups,  more  or  less  homogenous. 

Take  next  the  first  seventeen  measures  of  the  Finale  of  the  same 
sonata.  This  also  is  a  closed  form. 

It  would  be  well  to  introduce  also  a  salon  piece,  as,  e.  g.,  Wollen- 
haupt's  Whispering  Winds,  the  pupils  watching  for  new  subjects,  and 
pointing  out  the  ends  of  the  closed  forms.  Mason's  Danse  Rustique  is 
another  good  example. 

MUSICAL  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  The  first  three  of  Schubert's  Danses,    (Peters'  Ed.,  No.  150.) 

2.  Part  of  first  movement  of  Beethoven  Sonata,  op.  2,  No.  1. 

3.  Part  of  the  Adagio  of  the  same. 

4.  Menuetto  of  the  same. 

5'.  Part  of  the  Adagio  of  Sonata  Pathetique. 

6.  Part  of  Finale  of  the  same. 

7.  Salon  Pieces,  such  as  Wollenhaupt's  "  Whispering  Winds,"  and  Mason's  "  Danse 
Rustique." 


LESSON     ELEVENTH. 

FURTHER  EXAMINATION  OF  OPEN  AND  CLOSED  FORMS. 

In  the  previous  lesson  Closed  Forms  were  the  subject  of  our  ex- 
amination. In  opposition  to  the  term  "  closed,"  we  might  apply  to 
imperfectly  closed  period-groups  the  term  "  open,"  although  the  ex- 
pression "  open  form  "  is  to  a  certain  extent  a  solecism.  If,  now,  we 
listen  attentively  to  the  period-group  immediately  following  the  double- 
bar  in  the  principal  movement  of  a  sonata,  we  shall  find  it  to  consist  of 
from  two  to  four  or  five  imperfectly  closed  periods,  freely  modulating. 
(Plays  fifty-seven  measures  in  E  minor,  Allegro  molto  e  con  brio, 
of  first  movement  of  Sonata  Pathetique.)  Now  observe  the  first  part 
of  the  same  movement.  (Plays.)  We  see  that  this  contains  two  dis- 
tinctly marked  forms;  and  that  the  part  following  the  double-bar  is  in 
reality  a  free-fantasy  on  certain  leading  motives  out  of  the  first  part. 

Again,  observe  the  Impromptu  in  A  flat,  (op.  29,)  of  Chopin. 
(Plays.)  Of  how  many  closed  forms  does  this  consist?  Analyze  the 


OPEN  AND  CLOSED  FORMS.  29 

first  form  into  its  periods.  (Plays  again,  and  again  until  successfully 
analyzed.) 

Observe  the  Schumann  Novellette  in  E,  No.  7,  op.  21.  (Plays.) 
Of  how  many  closed  forms  does  this  consist?  (Plays  again.) 

NOTE. — It  may  be  well  to  remark  that  this  work  consists  of  three  forms,  the 
melody  in  the  middle  (in  A  maj.)  being  the  second,  and  standing  between  the 
other  two. 

Examine  now  the  Bach  Gavotte  in  D  minor,  No.  3  in  Bach's 
"  Pieces  Favoris."  (Plays.)  Listen  again  and  point  out  the  periods. 
(Plays.)  Does  this  consist  of  one  form  or  more  than  one?  (One, 
since  the  same  motive  prevails  throughout  the  movement.) 

Observe  now  the  Gavotte  in  D,  immediately  following  the  previous. 
(Plays.) 

This,  as  you  perceive,  is  composed'  on  the  same  motive  as  the 
previous,  but  in  a  major  key,  whereas  that  was  in  minor.  This  also 
constitutes  a  single  "  closed  form." 

Observe  now  the  first  Mendelssohn  Song  without  Words.  (Plays.) 
Define  the  periods  as  I  play.  (Plays  again.)  How  many  forms  have 
we  in  this?  (Ans.  One  form,  of  three  periods.) 

We  have  thus  discovered  that  a  long  piece  of  music  may  consist 
of  several  shorter  forms. 

17.  A  piece  consisting  of  a  single  form  is  said  to  be  in 
"  Unitary  Form,"  whether  of  one,  two,  three,  or  four  pe- 
riods. 

Generally  a  unitary  form  will  contain  not  more  than  three  periods, 
the  first  and  last  of  which  at  least  must  be  homogenous  with  each  other. 

Examples  of  unitary  forms  are  numerous  and  owing  to  their 
brevity  easily  recognized. 

Single  church-tunes  are  one-period  unitary  forms. 

Examine  Schumann's  "Traumerei;  Also  the  "Entrance"  and 
"Wayside  Inn"  of  the  Forest  Scenes,  op.  82,  Nos.  1  and  4.  Also 
Mendelssohn's  "  Hunting  Song."  Test  them  separately  and  repeatedly 
for  (1)  periods,  (2)  homogeneity  of  periods,  and  (3)  for  close  of  forms. 

MUSICAL  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  Extract  from  Allegro  of  Sonata  Pathetique. 

2.  Impromptu  in  A  flat,  op.  29,  Chopin. 

3.  Schumann  Novellette  in  E,  No.  7,  op.  21. 

4.  Gavotte  in  D  min.  from  Bach's  '•  Pieces  Favoris."     (Peters'  Edit.,  No.  221.) 

5.  First  Song  without  Words.    Mendelssohn. 

6.  "Traumerei  "  Schumann. 

7.  "  Hunting  Song."     Mendelssohn. 


30 


HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 


LESSON    TWELFTH.* 

IRREGULAR  PERIOD-FORMS  AND  PERIOD  GROUPS. 

The  natural  length  of  the  simple  period  is  eight  measures  in  slo\* 
or  moderate  time,  and  sixteen  in  quick  time.  But  in  good  writing  these 
lengths  are  constantly  varied  by  shortening,  extending,  etc.,  to  such  a 
degree  that  period-lengths  of  forty  or  fifty  measures  are  sometimes 
found. 

The  true  way  to  distinguish  periods  from  each  other  is  by  their 
motives  and  the  relation  of  Antecedent  and  Consequent. 

The  simple  period  consists  of  two  similar  sections  (or  halves) 
standing  in  the  relation  of  antecedent  and  consequent. 

Each  of  these  sections,  again,  consists  in  general  of  two  phrases, 
making  four  phrases  in  the  period.  As  a  rule  two  of  these  phrases  are 
entirely  or  very  nearly  alike,  and  the  other  two  correspond  or  answer 
to  each  other,  having  a  similar  rhythm,  but  different  harmony  and 
melody. 

Thus,  (Beethoven), 


Ex.  16.  [- 


First  Section. 


Antecedent. 


Consequent. 


In  the  same  manner  analyze  the  first  eight  measures  of  the  Adagio 
in  the  Beethoven  sonata  in  F,  op.  2,  No.  1.  Also  the  first  eight  meas- 
ures of  the  Adagio  of  Sonata  Pathetique.  This  is  the  simplest  form  of 
period.  The  first  eight  measures  of  the  Beethoven  sonata  in  G,  op.  14, 
No.  2,  afford  an  example  of  a  period  in  which  the  antecedent  contains 
the  same  phrase  twice  repeated;  and  a  consequent  entirely  different. 


*This  Lesson  may  be  omitted  at  the  dictation  of  the  teacher. 


IRKEGULAR  PERIOD-FORMS  AND  PERIOD  GROUPS. 


31 


The  Antecedent  in  the  period  is  the  part  that  asks  a  question;  it 
presents  the  subject  in  an  incomplete  form.  The  Consequent  completes 
the  form,  answers  the  question,  and  so  forms  an  equipoise  to  the  ante- 
cedent. It  does  this  by  (1)  completing  the  rhythm  (i.  e.,  by  filling 
up  the  natural  number  of  eight  or  sixteen  measures,)  and  (2)  by  re- 
turning to  the  tonic.  Thus  in  the  example  above,  No.  16,  the  first 
section  leads  to  the  dominant;  the  second  returns  to  the  tonic. 

Sometimes  the  period  does  not  return  to  the  tonic,  but  leads  off  to 
some  foreign  key.  In  that  case  the  period  is  incomplete,  and  is  either  of 
a  transitional  or  a  modulating  character,  or  else  is  intended  to  be  properly 
finished  at  some  subsequent  appearance  of  the  same  subject.  An  ex- 
ample of  this  kind  is  found  in  the  first  eight  measures  of  Schumann's 
Aufschwung,  where  the  antecedent  is  in  F  minor,  and  the  consequent 
concludes  in  A  flat. 

Periods  are  extended  to  nine,  ten  or  twelve  measures,  by  prolong- 
ing the  cadence,  or  by  inserting  matter  just  before  the  point  where  the 
cadence  was  expected. 

A  complex  period  is  one  in  which  the  antecedent  is  repeated, 
usually  in  a  higher  pitch,  thus  intensifying  the  feeling  of  expectation 
and  making  the  consequent  more  satisfactory  when  it  does  come.  An 
example  of  this  is  found  in  Schubert's  Sonata  in  C.  Thus: 


Ex.  17. 


— t-   •»-•*-•-   *•*-*-••- 
7    _ 


l.    \ _*,  *  4.  -f.        !~!     I     ,4-  j 

I     *i        I       •—          T        i  I 


One  of  the  most  remarkable   examples  of  this  kind  is  a  period  in 
Chopin's  Scherzo   in  B  flat  minor,  op.  31,   (beginning  with  the  sixty- 


32  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

fourth  measure)  which  extends  to  fifty-three  measures,  the  antecedent 
being  repeated  four  times:  viz.,  in  G  flat,  A  flat,  D  flat,  and  in  D  flat 
in  octaves.  It  may  be  proper  to  add,  however,  that  many  would  regard 
this  passage  as  in  reality  consisting  of  two  periods,  the  first  ending  with 
the  first  consequent.  It  is  a  question  of  names  merely,  the  last  ante- 
cedent and  consequent  having  precisely  the  same  content  as  the  first, 
additionally  emphasized  by  means  of  the  octaves. 

A  period-group  is  a  succession  of  periods  on  the  same  motives  (as 
in  unitary  forms)  or  on  different  motives,  as  in  transitional  periods  and 
the  "elaboration  "  of  sonatas.  (See  Chap.  VI.)  These  parts  of  com- 
position may  be  easily  studied  by  the  student  privately,  using  the 
Ditson  reprint  of  the  Billow  (Stuttgart)  edition  of  the  Beethoven 
Sonatas. 

For  our  present  purposes  it  is  enough  to  be  able  to  recognize  the 
principal  subjects  in  extended  movements.  Ability  to  follow  the  treat- 
ment of  transitional  passages  and  elaborations  is  a  more  mature  accom- 
plishment. 


LESSON    THIKTEENTH. 

BINARY  FORMS. 

18.  A  Binary  Form  is  a  form  composed  of  two  unitary 
forms,  which  may  or  may  not  be  connected  by  means  of 
intervening  passages  or  transitional  periods.  The  two  forms 
uniting  to  compose  a  binary  form,  stand  in  the  relation  of 
Principal  and  Second.  The  Principal  stands  at  the  begin- 
ning, and  is  repeated  after  the  Second.  Thus  the  Principal 
occurs  twice;  the  Second  once.  This  is  for  the  sake  of 
unity. 

This  is  the  form,  e.  g.,  of  the  Menuetto  of  the  Beethoven  Sonata 
in  F  min.,  op.  2,  No.  1.  (Plays  until  the  class  clearly  perceive  the  con- 
struction.) 

In  the  older  forms  of  this  kind  we  sometimes  find  the  Second  com- 
posed from  the  same  motives  as  the  Principal,  but  changed  from  minor 
to  major,  or  vice  versa.  Bach's  Gavotte  in  D  minor  is  an  example  of 
this  kind.  (Plays  as  many  times  as  necessary.) 


OF  THE  NATURE  AND  MEANING  OF  THE  BEAUTIFUL.    65 

very  singularly  given  in  the  rock,  in  almost  all  languages;  singularly 
I  say,  because  life  is  almost  the  last  attribute  one  would  ascribe  to 
stone,  but  for  this  visible  energy  and  connection  of  its  particles;  and 
so  of  water  as  opposed  to  stagnancy.  And  I  do  not  think  that,  how- 
ever pure  a  powder  or  dust  may  be,  the  idea  of  beauty  is  ever  connected 
with  it,  for  it  is  not  the  mere  purity,  but  the  active  condition  of  the 
substance  which  is  desired,  so  that  as  soon  as  it  shoot  into  crystals,  or 
gathers  into  efflorescence,  a  sensation  of  active  or  real  purity  is  received 
which  was  not  felt  in  the  calcined  caput  mortuum. 

"  And  again  in  color.  I  imagine  that  the  quality  of  it  which  we 
term  purity  is  dependent  on  the  full  energizing  of  the  rays  that  com- 
pose it,  whereof  if  in  compound  hues  any  are  overpowered  and  killed 
by  the  rest,  so  as  to  be  of  no  value  nor  operation,  foulness  is  the 
consequence;  while  so  long  as  all  act  together,  whether  side  by  side, 
or  from  pigments  seen  one  through  the  other,  so  that  all  the  coloring 
matter  employed  comes  into  play  in  the  harmony  desired,  and  none 
be  quenched  nor  killed,  purity  results.  And  so  in  all  cases  I  suppose 
that  pureness  is  made  to  us  desirable,  because  expressive  of  the  con- 
stant presence  and  energizing  of  the  Deity  in  matter,  through  which  all 
things  live  and  move,  and  have  their  being,  and  that  foulness  is  pain- 
ful as  the  accompaniment  of  disorder  and  decay,  and  always  indicative 
of  the  withdrawal  of  Divine  support.  And  the  practical  analogies  of 
life,  the  invariable  connection  of  outward  foulness  with  mental  sloth 
and  degradation  as  well  as  with  bodily  lethargy  and  disease,  together 
with  the  contrary  indications  of  freshness  and  purity  belonging  to 
every  healthy  and  active  organic  frame,  (singularly  seen  in  the  effort 
of  the  young  leaves  when  first  their  inward  energy  prevails  over  the 
earth,  pierces  its  corruption,  and  shakes  its  dust  away  from  their  own 
white  purity  of  life,)  all  these  circumstances  strengthen  the  instinct 
by  associations  countless  and  irresistible. 

"  And  then,  finally,  with  the  idea  of  purity  comes  that  of  spirituality, 
for  the  essential  characteristic  of  matter  is  its  inertia,  whence,  by  adding 
to  it  purity  or  energy,  we  may  in  some  measure  spiritualize  even  matter 
itself.  Thus  in  the  descriptions  of  the  Apocalypse  it  is  its  purity  that 
fits  it  for  its  place  in  heaven ;  the  river  of  the  water  of  life  that  pro- 
ceeds out  of  the  throne  of  the  Lamb,  is  clear  as  crystal,  and  the  pave- 
ment of  the  city  is  pure  gold,  like  unto  clear  glass." 

SECTION    SECOND.       THE    SATISFACTORY    IN    CONTEMPLATION. 

But  above  pleasures  of  mere  sense-perception  as  such,  mere  ebb 
and  flow  of  sensation,  we  must   reckon  the  quiet  pleasures  one  has  in 
5 


66  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

merely  contemplating  a  beautiful  object.  One  of  the  most  obvious 
examples  of  this  is  the  satisfaction  universally  experienced  in  looking 
at  a  beautiful  face.  Such  is  the  gratification  one  involuntarily  feels  in 
its  symmetry,  its  pleasantness  and  justice  of  proportion,  that  for  a 
long  time  one  overlooks  whatever  of  emptiness  or  shallowness  of 
spiritual  expression  it  may  betray.  Nay,  with  some  observers  this 
pleasure  is  so  strong  that  it  suffices  to  overcome  the  strongest  and  best 
grounded  elements  of  dissatisfaction  one  may  have  in  the  personal 
character  of  the  owner  of  the  face. 

The  foundation  of  this  satisfaction  lies  in  Symmetry  ("  the  type  of 
the  Divine  justice")  of  which  Ruskin  speaks  thus: 

"  We  shall  not  be  long  detained  by  the  consideration  of  this  con- 
stituent of  beauty,  as  its  nature  is  universally  felt  and  understood. 
In  all  perfectly  beautiful  objects,  there  is  found  the  opposition  of  one 
part  to  another  and  a  reciprocal  balance  obtained;  in  animals  the 
balance  being  commonly  between  opposite  sides,  (note  the  disagree- 
ableness  occasioned  by  the  exception  in  flat  fish,  having  the  eyes  on 
one  side  of  the  head,)  but  in  vegetables  the  opposition  is  less  distinct, 
as  in  the  boughs  on  opposite  sides  of  trees,  and  the  leaves  and  sprays 
on  each  side  of  the  boughs,  and  in  dead  matter  less  perfect  still,  often 
amounting  only  to  a  certain  tendency  towards  a  balance,  as  in  the 
opposite  sides  of  valleys  and  alternate  windings  of  streams.  In  things 
in  which  perfect  symmetry  is,  from  their  nature,  impossible  or  improb- 
able, a  balance  must  be  at  least  in  some  measure  expressed  before  they 
can  be  beheld  with  pleasure.  Hence  the  necessity  of  what  artists  re- 
quire as  opposing  lines  or  masses  in  composition,  the  propriety  of  which, 
as  well  as  their  value,  depends  chiefly  on  their  inartificial  and  natural 
invention.  Absolute  equality  is  not  required,  still  less  absolute 
similarity. 

"A  mass  of  subdued  color  may  be  balanced  by  a  point  of  a  powerful 
one,  and  a  long  and  latent  line  overpowered  by  a  short  and  conspicuous 
one.  The  only  error  against  which  it  is  necessary  to  guard  the  reader 
with  respect  to  symmetry,  is  the  confounding  it  with  proportion, 
though  it  seems  strange  that  the  two  terms  could  ever  have  been  used 
as  synonymous.  Symmetry  is  the  opposition  of  equal  quantities  to 
each  other.  Proportion  the  connection  of  unequal  quantities  with  each 
other.  The  property  of  a  tree  in  sending  out  equal  boughs  on  opposite 
sides  is  symmetrical.  Its  sending  out  shorter  and  smaller  towards  the 
top,  proportional.  In  the  human  face  its  balance  of  opposite  sides  is 
symmetry,  its  division  upwards,  proportion. 

"Whether  the  agreeableness  of  symmetry  be  in  any  way  referable 


OF  THE  NATURE  AND  MEANING  OF  THE  BEAUTIFUL.       67 


to  its  expression  of  the  Aristotilian  Iffdiys,  that  is  to  say  of  abstract 
justice,  I  leave  the  reader  to  determine;  I  only  assert  respecting  it, 
that  it  is  necessary  to  the  dignity  of  every  form,  and  that  by  the 
removal  of  it  we  shall  render  the  other  elements  of  beauty  com- 
paratively ineffectual;  though  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  so  to  be  observed 
that  it  is  rather  a  mode  of  arrangement  of  qualities  than  a  quality 
itself;  and  hence  symmetry  has  little  power  over  the  mind,  unless  all 
the  other  constituents  of  beauty  be  found  together  with  it." 

All  degrees  of  the  satisfactory  in  contemplation  depend  chiefly 
upon  the  qualities  which  naturally  appertain  to  and  cluster  around  sym- 
metry. They  are  Regularity,  Moderation  according  to  law,  Harmony, 
and  Proportion,  all  of  which  are  the  qualities  we  discover  first  in  the 
beautiful  things  of  nature. 

All  of  these,  again,  show  themselves  equally  in  space-relations, 
and  in  time-relations.  Those  of  space,  or  of  visible  forms,  are  already 
referred  to  in  the  extract  from  Ruskin,  above. 

The  element  of  time  properly  includes  every  thing  in  music;  not 
only  its  measure  and  rhythm,  but  even  its  harmony  and  melodic 
organization,  since  tone  itself  finds  its  power  in  regularly  determined 
vibrations,  which  although  physically  taking  place  in  space,  enter  the 
soul  only  in  the  forms  of  time.  In  this  respect  they  ally  themselves  to  a 
deeper  department  of  the  soul;  for  Schopenhauer  very  cleverly  points 
out  that  space-relations  as  such  are  not  received  into  abstract  thought, 
but  transformed  into  those  of  time,  as  all  the  equations  and  computa- 
tions of  planetary  spaces  are  carried  on  in  mathematical  formulae. 
In  other  words,  space  itself  is  nothing  more  than  time  made  visible. 
Time  and  Eternity  are  the  symbols  of  immortality. 

Now  in  the  element  of  time  we  have  in  music  innumerable  rela- 
tions and  cunningly  intermingled  gradations  of  harmony,  proportion, 
order,  symmetry,  and  the  like,  as  we  have  already  seen  in  our  studies 
in  phraseology  and  form;  and  as  we  shall  see  yet  more  plainly  in  our 
studies  in  classical  music  particularly. 

Moreover,  these  elements  of  beauty  imply  also  unity,  else  there 
would  be  no  Single  in  which  the  beauty  inheres.  And  so  it  follows 
by  implication  that  in  order,  proportion,  and  harmony,  we  have  the 
"  unity  in  variety  "  so  often  quoted  and  so  little  understood.  But  this 
element  of  Unity  has  a  yet  higher  reach,  therefore  its  particular  dis- 
cussion is  reserved  for  the  next  section. 

In  all  these  together  we  have  Formal  Beauty,  the  outward  con- 
ditions of  beauty;  or  purely  physical  beauty,  the  form  in  which  the 
higher  spiritual  beauty  may  inhere.  And  formal  beauty,  again,  implies 


68  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

as  its  check  or  safe-guard  yet  another   quality,  of  which  Ruskin  shall 

tell  us. 

MODERATION: 

The  Type  of  the  Divine  Government  by  Laic. 

"  I  have  put  this  attribute  of  beauty  last,  because  I  consider  it  the 
girdle  and  safeguard  of  all  the  rest,  and  in  this  respect  the  most  essen- 
tial of  all,  for  it  is  possible  that  a  certain  degree  of  beauty  may  be 
attained  even  in  the  absence  of  one  of  its  other  constituents,  as  some- 
times in  some  measure  without  symmetry  or  without  unity.  But  the 
least  appearance  of  violence  or  extravagance,  of  the  want  of  modera- 
tion and  restraint,  is,  I  think,  destructive  of  all  beauty  whatsoever  in 
every  thing,  color,  form,  motion,  language,  or  thought,  giving  rise  to 
that  which  in  color  we  call  glaring,  in  form  inelegant,  in  motion 
ungraceful,  in  language  coarse,  in  thought  undisciplined,  in  all  un- 
chastened;  which  qualities  are  in  every  thing  most  painful,  because  the 
signs  of  disobedient  and  irregular  operation. 

"And  therefore  as  that  virtue  in  which  men  last,  and  with  most 
difficulty  attain  unto,  and  which  many  attain  not  at  all,  arid  yet  that 
which  is  essential  to  the  conduct  and  almost  to  the  being  of  all  other 
virtues,  since  neither  imagination,  nor  invention,  nor  industry,  nor 
sensibility,  nor  energy,  nor  any  other  good  having,  is  of  full  avail 
without  this  of  self-command,  whereby  works  truly  masculine  and 
mighty  are  produced,  and  by  the  signs  of  which  they  are  separated 
from  that  lower  host  of  things  brilliant,  magnificent  and  redundant, 
and  further  yet  from  that  of  the  loose,  the  lawless,  the  exaggerated, 
the  insolent,  and  the  profane,  I  would  have  the  necessity  of  it  foremost 
among  all  our  inculcating,  and  the  name  of  it  largest  among  all  our  in- 
scribing, in  so  far  that,  over  the  doors  of  every  school  of  Art,  I  would 
have  this  one  word,  relieved  out  in  deep  letters  of  pure  gold  —  Modera- 
tion." 

SECTION    THIRD.       THE    BEAUTIFUL    IN    SPIRITUAL    PERCEPTION. 

We  now  reach  the  degree  where  the  beautiful  fully  becomes  what 
in  the  original  conception  it  was  defined  to  be,  namely,  the  expression 
of  the  ideal  in  sense-forms  (or  in  outward  appearance).  When  we  con- 
template a  gorgeous  sunset,  we  experience  much  more  than  a  merely 
contentful  satisfaction  in  splendid  masses  of  crimson  and  gold  lying 
above  the  western  horizon.  It  is  not  the  magnificent  and  incredible 
purity  of  the  colors,  nor  the  pleasing  evanescence  of  the  silently 
changing  cloud-masses,  nor  yet  any  sensuous  gratification  in  the  brilliant 
lights  reflected  from  the  mountains  in  the  east,  or  the  passing  sails  on  the 


OF  THE  NATURE  AND  MEANING  OF  THE  BEAUTIFUL.        69 

ocean,  but  rather  an  inspiration  and  kindling  of  spirit  such  as  all  sensi- 
tive and  highly  organized  natures  well  know,  and  which  all  recognize 
as  among  the  most  spiritual  moments  of  their  lives.  Or  when  one  looks 
off  from  a  mountain  top,  how  grand  and  exhilarating  the  experience. 
So,  again,  as  one  listens  to  a  great  symphony,  how  it  thrills  and  over- 
powers with  its  exquisite  expression.  In  all  these  experiences,  and  in 
an  endless  number  of  similar  ones  left  unmentioned  here  because  so 
universally  recognized,  we  have  always  two  elements:  some  object  or 
combination  of  objects  presented  to  sense-perception,  and  as  such  sat- 
isfying at  least  the  chief  demands  of  formal  beauty;  and,  second,  a  kind- 
ling of  emotion  in  the  soul,  a  suggestion  of  the  unutterable  and  the  in- 
effable, which  for  the  moment  makes  even  common  natures  poetic  and 
appreciative. 

This  play  of  the  imagination,  this  unconscious  kindling  of  soul, 
ranges  through  all  grades,  from  the  merely  pleasing  to  the  most  over- 
powering sense  of  the  Infinite,  as  in  the  sublime.  But  it  is  in  some 
degree  inseparable  from  the  highest  perception  of  beauty,  and  depends 
more  upon  sensitiveness  and  fineness  of  organization  in  the  beholder, 
than  on  any  definable  physical  properties  of  the  object  awakening  it. 
We  call  it,  therefore,  the  beautiful  in  spiritual  perception;  or,  with 
Kant  and  Lotze,  the  "beautiful  in  reflection,"  as  if  in  contemplating 
these  objects  something  of  the  radiance  of  the  spiritual  world  was  re- 
flected upon  the  beholder,  or  called  up  from  the  depths  of  his  own  soul. 
This  emotion  is  what  Richard  Wagner  calls  "the  sense  of  the  illimit- 
able;" and  what  Ruskin  eloquently  describes  as  intimations  or  sugges- 
tions of  Unity,  Repose  and  Infinity: — 

UNITY: — The  Type  of  the  Divine  Comprehensiveness.  "All  things," 
says  Hooker,  "  (God  only  excepted,)  besides  the  nature  which  they  have 
in  themselves,  receive  externally  some  perfection  from  other  things." 
Hence  the  appearance  of  separation  or  isolation  in  any  thing,  and  of 
self-dependence,  is  an  appearance  of  imperfection ;  and  all  appearances 
of  connection  and  brotherhood  are  pleasant  and  right,  both  as  signifi- 
cative of  perfection  in  the  things  united,  and  as  typical  of  that  Unity 
which  we  attribute  to  God,  and  of  which  our  true  conception  is  rightly 
explained  and  limited  by  Dr.  Brown,  in  his  XCII  lecture;  that 
Unity  which  consists  not  in  his  own  singleness  or  separation,  but 
in  the  necessity  of  his  inherence  in  all  things  that  be,  without  which 
no  creature  of  any  kind  could  hold  existence  for  a  moment,  which 
necessity  of  Divine  essence  I  think  it  better  to  speak  of  as  com- 
prehensiveness, than  as  unity,  because  unity  is  often  understood 
in  the  sense  of  oneness  or  singleness,  instead  of  universality,  whereas 


70  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND   MUSIC. 

the  only  Unity  which  by  any  means  can  become  grateful  or  an  object  of 
hope  to  men,  and  whose  types  therefore  in  material  things  can  be 
beautiful,  is  that  on  which  turned  the  last  words  and  prayer  of  Christ 
before  his  crossing  of  the  Kedron  brook.  "  Neither  pray  I  for  these 
alone,  but  for  them  also  which  shall  believe  on  me  through  their  word. 
That  they  all  may  be  one,  as  thou,  Father,  art  in  me,  and  I  in  thee." 

"  And  so  there  is  not  any  matter,  nor  any  spirit,  nor  any  creature, 
but  it  is  capable  of  an  unity  of  some  kind  with  other  creatures,  and  in 
that  unity  is  its  perfection  and  theirs,  and  a  pleasure  also  for  the  be- 
holding of  all  other  creatures  that  can  behold.  So  the  unity  of  spirits 
is  partly  in  their  sympathy,  and  partly  in  their  giving  and  taking,  and 
always  in  their  love;  and  these  are  their  delight  and  their  strength, 
for  their  strength  is  in  their  co-working  and  army  fellowship,  and  their 
delight  is  in  the  giving  and  receiving  of  alternate  and  perpetual  cur- 
rents of  good,  their  inseparable  dependence  on  each  other's  being,  and 
their  essential  and  perfect  depending  on  their  Creator;  and  so  the 
unity  of  earthly  creatures  is  their  power  and  their  peace,  not  like  the 
dead  and  cold  peace  of  undisturbed  stones  and  solitary  mountains,  but 
the  living  peace  of  trust,  and  the  living  power  of  support,  of  hands 
that  hold  each  other  and  are  still ;  and  so  the  unity  of  matter  is,  in  its 
noblest  form,  the  organization  of  it  which  builds  it  up  into  temples  for 
the  spirit,  and  in  its  lower  forms,  the  sweet  and  strange  affinity,  which 
gives  to  it  the  glory  of  its  orderly  elements,  and  the  fair  variety  of 
change  and  assimilation  that  turns  the  dust  into  the  crystal,  and  sepa- 
rates the  waters  that  be  above  the  firmament  from  the  waters  that  be 
beneath;  and  in  its  lowest  form,  it  is  the  working  and  walking  and 
clinging  together  that  gives  their  power  to  the  winds,  and  its  syllables 
and  soundings  to  the  air,  and  their  weight  to  the  waves,  and  their 
burning  to  the  sunbeams,  and  their  stability  to  the  mountains,  and  to 
every  creature  whatsoever  operation  is  for  its  glory  and  for  its  good. 

Now  of  that  which  is  thus  necessary  to  the  perfection  of  all  things, 
all  appearance,  sign,  type,  or  suggestion  must  be  beautiful,  in  what- 
ever matter  it  may  appear.  And  so  to  the  perfection  of  beauty  in 
lines,  or  colors,  or  forms,  or  masses,  or  multitudes,  the  appearance  of 
some  species  of  unity  is  in  the  most  determined  sense  of  the  word 
essential. 

But  of  the  appearances  of  unity,  as  of  unity  itself,  there  are 
several  kinds  which  it  will  be  found  hereafter  convenient  to  consider 
separately.  Thus  there  is  the  unity  of  different  and  separate  things, 
subjected  to  one  and  the  same  influence,  which  may  be  called  subjec- 
tional  unity,  and  this  is  the  unity  of  the  clouds,  as  they  are  driven  by 


OF  THE  NATURE   AND   MEANING  OF  THE    BEAUTIFUL.       71 

parallel  winds,  or  as  they  are  ordered  by  the  electric  currents,  and  this 
is  the  unity  of  the  sea  waves,  and  this  of  the  bending  and  undula- 
tion of  the  forest  masses,  and  in  creatures  capable  of  will,  it  is  the 
unity  of  will  or  of  inspiration. 

And  there  is  unity  of  origin,  which  we  may  call  original  unity,  which 
is  of  things  arising  from  one  spring  and  source,  and  speaking  always 
of  this  their  brotherhood,  and  this  in  matter  is  the  unity  of  the  branches 
of  the  trees,  and  of  the  petals  and  starry  rays  of  flowers,  and  of  the 
beams  of  light,  and  in  spiritual  creatures  it  is  their  filial  relation  to 
Him  from  whom  they  have  their  being.  And  there  is  unity  of  se- 
quence, which  is  that  of  things  that  form  links  in  chains,  and  steps  in 
ascent,  and  stages  in  journeys,  and  this,  in  matter,  is  the  unity  of  com- 
municable forces  in  their  continuance  from  one  thing  to  another,  and 
it  is  the  passing  upwards  and  downwards  of  beneficent  effects  among 
all  things,  and  it  is  the  melody  of  sounds,  and  the  beauty  of  continuous 
lines,  and  the  orderly  successions  of  motion  and  times.  And  in 
spiritual  creatures  it  is  their  own  constant  building  up  by  true  know- 
ledge and  continuous  reasoning  to  higher  perfection,  and  the  singleness 
and  straight-forwardness  of  their  tendencies  to  more  complete  com- 
munion with  God. 

And  there  is  the  unity  of  membership,  which  we  may  call  essen- 
tial unity,  which  is  the  unity  of  things  separately  imperfect  into  a 
perfect  whole,  and  this  is  the  great  unity  of  which  other  unities  are 
but  parts  and  means,  it  is  in  matter  the  harmony  of  sounds  and  con- 
sistency of  bodies,  and  among  spiritual  creatures,  their  love  and  happi- 
ness and  very  life  in  God. 

REPOSE: — The  Type  of  the  Divine  Permanence.  Repose,  as  it  is 
expressed  in  material  things,  is  either  a  simple  appearance  of  perman- 
ence and  quietness,  as  in  the  massy  forms  of  a  mountain  or  rock, 
accompanied  by  the  lulling  effect  of  all  mighty  sight  and  sound,  which 
all  feel  and  none  define,  (it  would  be  less  sacred  if  more  explicable,) 
£u8<>utnv  S^opluj-s  xopu<f>ai  rl  xat  (ptipaffzs,  or  else  it  is  repose  proper, 
the  rest  of  things  in  which  there  is  vitality  or  capability  of  motion 
actual  or  imagined;  and  with  respect  to  these  the  expression  of  repose 
is  greatei  in  proportion  to  the  amount  and  sublimity  of  the  action 
which  is  not  taking  place,  as  well  as  to  the  intensity  of  the  negation 
of  it.  Thus  we  speak  not  of  repose  in  a  stone,  because  the  motion  of 
a  stone  has  nothing  in  it  of  energy  nor  vitality,  neither  its  repose  of 
stability.  But  having  once  seen  a  great  rock  come  down  a  mountain 
side,  we  have  a  noble  sensation  of  its  rest,  now  bedded  immovably 
among  the  under  fern,  because  the  power  and  fearfulness  of  its  motion 


72  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

were  great,  and  its  stability  and  negation  of  motion  are  now  great  in 
proportion.  Hence  the  imagination,  which  delights  in  nothing  more 
than  the  enhancing  of  the  characters  of  repose,  effects  this  usually  by 
either  attributing  to  things  visibly  energetic  an  ideal  stability,  or  to 
things  visibly  stable  an  ideal  a.ctivity  or  vitality.  Hence  Wordsworth, 
of  the  cloud,  which  in  itself  having  too  much  of  changefulness  for  his 
purpose,  is  spoken  of  as  one  "  that  heareth  not  the  loud  winds  when 
they  call,  and  moveth  altogether,  if  it  move  at  all."  And  again  of 
children,  which,  that  it  may  remove  from  them  the  child  restlessness, 
the  imagination  conceives  as  rooted  flowers  "  Beneath  an  old  gray  oak, 
as  violets,  lie."  On  the  other  hand,  the  scattered  rocks,  which  have 
not,  as  such,  vitality  enough  for  rest,  are  gifted  with  it  by  the  living 
image;  they  "lie  crouched  around  us  like  a  flock  of  sheep." 

Thus,  as  we  saw  that  unity  demanded  for  its  expression  what  at 
first  sight  might  have  seemed  its  contrary  (variety),  so  repose  demands 
for  its  expression  the  implied  capability  of  its  opposite,  energy,  and 
this  even  in  its  lower  manifestations,  in  rocks  and  stones  and  trees. 
By  comparing  the  modes  in  which  the  mind  is  disposed  to  regard  the 
boughs  of  a  fair  and  vigorous  tree,  motionless  in  the  summer  air,  with 
the  eifect  produced  by  one  of  these  same  boughs  hewn  square  and  used 
for  threshold  or  lintel,  the  reader  will  at  once  perceive  the  connection 
of  vitality  with  repose,  and  the  part  they  both  bear  in  beauty. 

Hence  I  think  that  there  is  no  desire  more  intense  or  more  exalted 
than  that  which  exists  in  all  rightly  disciplined  minds  for  the  evidences 
of  repose  in  external  signs,  and  what  I  cautiously  said  respecting 
infinity,  I  say  fearlessly  respecting  repose,  that  no  work  of  art  can  be 
great  without  it,  and  that  all  art  is  great  in  proportion  to  the  appear- 
ance of  it.  It  is  the  most  unfailing  test  of  beauty,  whether  of  matter 
or  motion,  nothing  can  be  ignoble  that  possesses  it,  nothing  right  that 
has  it  not,  and  in  strict  proportion  to  its  appearance  in  the  work  is  the 
majesty  of  the  mind  to  be  inferred  in  the  artificer.  Without  regard 
to  other  qualities,  we  may  look  to  this  for  our  evidence,  and  by  the 
search  for  this  alone  we  may  be  led  to  the  rejection  of  all  that  is 
base,  and  the  accepting  of  all  that  is  good  and  great,  for  the  paths  of 
wisdom  are  all  peace.  We  shall  see  by  this  light  three  colossal  images 
standing  up  side  by  side,  looming  in  their  great  rest  of  spirituality  above 
the  whole  world  horizon,  Phidias,  Michael  Angelo,  and  Dante  (and  Bee- 
thoven— ED.)  ;  and  then,  separated  from  their  great  religious  thrones  only 
by  less  fullness  and  earnestness  of  faith,  Homer,  and  Shakspeare;  and 
from  those  we  may  go  down  step  by  step  among  the  mighty  men  of  every 
age,  securely  and  certainly  observant  of  diminished  lustre  in  every 


OF  THE  NATURE  AND  MEANING  OF  THE  BEAUTIFUL.   73 

appearance  of  restlessness  and  effort,  until  the  last  trace  of  true  inspira- 
tion vanishes  in  the  tottering  affectations  or  the  tortured  insanities  of 
modern  times. 

There  is  no  art,  no  pursuit,  whatsoever,  but  its  results  may  be 
classed  by  this  test  alone;  every  thing  of  evil  is  betrayed  and  winnowed 
away  by  it,  glitter  and  confusion  and  glare  of  color,  inconsistency  or 
absence  of  thought,  forced  expression,  evil  choice  of  subject,  over 
accumulation  of  materials,  whether  in  painting  or  literature,  the 
shallow  and  unreflecting  notningness  of  the  English  schools  of  art,  the 
strained  and  disgusting  horrors  of  the  French,  the  distorted  feverish- 
ness  of  the  German; — pretence,  over  decoration,  over  divisions  of 
parts  in  architecture,  and  again  in  music,  in  acting,  in  dancing,  in 
whatsoever  art,  great  or  mean,  there  are  yet  degrees  of  greatness  or 
meanness  entirely  dependent  on  this  single  quality  of  repose. 

INFINITY: — The  Type  of  the  Divine  Incomprehensibility.    "  What- 
ever beauty  there  may  result   from  the  dew  of  the  grass,  the  flash  of 
the  cascade,  the  glitter  of  the  birch  trunk,  or  the  fair  daylight  hues  of 
darker  things,  (and  joy  fulness  there  is  in  all  of  these,)  there  is  yet  a 
light  which  the  eye  invariably  seeks  with  a  deeper  feeling  of  the 
beautiful,  the  light  of  the  declining  or  breaking  day,  and   the  flakes 
of  scarlet  cloud  burning  like  watch-fires  in  the  green  sky  of  the  horizon, 
a  deeper  feeling,  I  say,  not  perhaps  more  acute,  but  having  more  of 
spiritual  hope  and  longing,  less  of  animal  and  present  life,  more  mani- 
fest, invariably,  in  those  of  more  serious  and  determined  mind,  (I  use 
the  word  serious,  not  as  being  opposed  to  cheerful  but  to  trivial  and 
volatile;)  but,  I  think,  marked  and  unfailing  even  in  those  of  the  least 
thoughtful  dispositions.     I  am  willing  to  let  it  rest   on  the  determina- 
tion of  every  reader  whether  the  pleasure  he  has  received  from  these 
effects  of  calm  and  luminous   distance  be  not  the   most  singular  and 
memorable  of  which  he  has  been  conscious,  whether  all  that  is  dazzling 
in  color,   perfect  in  form,  gladdening  in  expression,  be  not  of  evanes- 
cent and  shallow  appealing,  when   compared   with  the  still  small  voice 
of  the  level  twilight  behind  the  purple  hills,  or  the  scarlet  arch  of  dawn 
over  the  dark  troublous-edged  sea."         ...... 

"  It  is  not  then  by  nobler  form,  it  is  not  by  positiveness  of  hue,  it 
is  not  by  intensity  of  light  (for  the  sun  itself  at  noonday  is  effectless 
upon  the  feelings),  that  this  strange  distant  space  possesses  its  attrac- 
tive power.  But  there  is  one  thing  it  has,  or  suggests,  which  no  other 
object  of  sight  suggests  in  equal  degree,  and  that  is, — Infinity.  It  is 
of  all  material  things  the  least  material,  the  least  finite,  the  farthest 
withdrawn  from  the  earth  prison-house,  the  most  typical  of  the  nature 


74  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

of  God,  the  most  suggestive  of  the  glory  of  His  dwelling-place.  For 
the  sky  of  night,  though"  we  may  know  it  boundless,  is  dark,  it  is  a 
studded  vault,  a  roof  that  seems  to  shut  us  in  and  down,  but  the  bright 
distance  has  no  limit,  we  feel  its  infinity,  as  we  rejoice  in  the  purity 
of  its  light." 

SECTION    FOURTH.       THE    PERCEPTION    OF    THE    BEAUTIFUL    ONE    OF    THE 
HIGHEST  FACULTIES  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Thus  it  plainly  appears  that  in  its  ultimate  relations  the  perception 
of  the  Beautiful  is  one  of  the  highest  faculties  of  the  soul.  For  as 
Hegel  points  out,  there  are  three  kingdoms  of  absolutely  spiritual  activ- 
ity, having  the  same  content,  namely  knowledge  of  God;  and  differing 
from  each  other  only  in  the  form  in  which  they  bring  the  ideal  to  con- 
sciousness. These  three  kingdoms  of  spirit  are  Art,  Religion  and  Phil- 
osophy. 

Art  communicates  its  content  through  sense-forms;  Religion 
through  the  "representing  consciousness";  and  Philosophy  through 
free  thought  addressed  to  the  pure  reason.  Art  is  most  nearly  related 
to  Religion,  "because  both  have  to  do  with  heart  and  feeling"  (Hegel). 

Still  in  the  very  nature  of  the  medium  through  which  it  communi- 
cates, namely  sense-forms,  Art  has  great  temptation  to  remain  with  arid 
of  the  senses  exclusively.  And  this  we  find  plainly  illustrated  in  all  per- 
iods of  its  development.  Even  in  the  times  when  there  was  high  art 
in  the  world,  there  has  always  been  along  with  it  a  low  or  debased  art, 
appealing  to  the  senses  as  such,  and  remaining  there.  The  depart- 
ment of  Painting  has  been  perhaps  the  most  exposed  to  this  debase- 
ment, from  which,  indeed,  it  has  never  been  able  entirely  to  free  itself. 

Music  and  Poetry  also  have  at  times  fallen  under  the  same  temp- 
tations, as  we  see  in  the  music  of  Strauss  and  Gounod,  and  some  of  the 
poetry  of  Byron  and  Swinburne.  We  need  to  be  on  our  guard,  there- 
fore, against  all  forms  and  degrees  of  this  low  art,  which  may  always 
be  known  by  its  peculiarly  sensuous  charm,  and  its  lack  of  higher  and 
deeper  suggestion. 

In  this  light  also  we  discover  the  moral  relations  between  the 
practical  pursuit  of  Art,  Religion  and  Philosophy.  The  latter,  indeed, 
has  to  do  with  pure  reason,  and  is  rarely  found  conjoined  with  an  ac- 
tive condition  of  the  artistic  faculties.  Between  Art  and  Religion, 
however,  (as  between  Science  and  Religion,)  there  has  long  been  a  mis- 
understanding, having  its  origin  in  the  one-sidedness  of  their  respec- 
tive votaries.  The  pursuit  of  Art  in  the  highest  sense  necessarily 
relates  one  to  Religion,  because  it  not  only  exercises  his  heart  and 


OF  THE  NATURE  AND  MEANING  OF  THE   BEAUTIFUL.       75 

feelings,  but  calls  out  his  highest  spiritual  intuitions  as  such.  Artists 
in  whom  the  religious  sense  is  wanting,  will  be  discovered  on  careful 
consideration  to  be  concerned  with  low  forms  of  art,  either  resting  in 
the  sensuous  as  such,  01  at  the  most  not  rising  above  the  enjoyment  of 
formal  beauty.  Art  in  the  lowest  stage  is  intoxicating  in  its  effect 
upon  the  mind,  and  debilitating;  in  the  second  stage  it  is  absorbing  and 
contentful  to  those  in  whom  the  sense  of  formal  beauty  is  acute,  and  if 
they  yield  themselves  to  this  purely  external  charm,  it  has  the  effect 
of  filling  up  the  attention  to  the  exclusion  of  the  higher  activities  of 
the  soul.  Still,  between  Art  in  this  second  stage  and  Religion  there  is 
no  contradiction  nor  incompatibilty.  On  the  contrary,  the  influence  of 
Art  is  useful  provided  that  merely  formal  beauty  be  not  made  an  end. 
Art  also  exercises  great  influence  upon  Religion,  and  has  the  ten- 
dency to  soften  the  rigor  of  its  dogmas  and  practices,  and  encourages 
in  it  a  broader  humanity,  as  we  may  see  plainly  enough  by  comparing 
Puritanism  with  later  forms  of  vital  religion.  Besides,  Art  aids  Religion 
in  a  very  important  way  by  furnishing  it  with  its  revelations  of  beauty 
and  truth  in  sense-forms,  in  availing  itself  of  which  Religion  becomes 
intelligible  and  attractive  to  the  common  mind. 

O 

On  the  other  hand,  Religion  exercises  important  influence  upon 
Art,  especially  by  elevating  the  thoughts  of  the  artist,  and  purifying  his 
soul,  thereby  permitting  truth  to  shine  into  it  with  greater  lustre.  And 
so  we  may  conclude  on  a  priori  grounds  that  the  exercise  of  religion 
is  helpful  to  the  artist,  and  that  we  have  a  right  to  expect  from  him  in 
such  case  a  higher  arid  more  inspiring  revelation  of  beauty,  than 
would  otherwise  be  possible.  And  this,  also,  experience  confirms,  as 
we  see  plainly  in  such  men  as  Dante,  Michael  Angelo,  Bach,  Handel 
and  Beethoven,  who  are  of  the  very  highest  type. 


76  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-FOURTH. 


THE  SYMBOLICAL,  THE  CLASSICAL,  AND  THE  ROMANTIC  IN  ART. 

The  progress  of  Art  has  been  gradual,  from  the  imperfection  and 
crudity  of  early  attempts,  to  a  well-nigh  perfect  beauty  in  the  time 
of  its  full  development.  Thus  it  may  be  said  in  general  that 
"the  oldest  works  in  all  forms  of  art  yield  in  themselves  vague 
contents:  in  poetry,  simple  history,  Theogenies  fermenting  with  ab- 
stract ideas  and  their  incomplete  expression;  separate  saints  in  stone 
and  wood,  etc.  The  representation  remains  unpliant,  monotonous  or 
confused,  stiff,  broken.  Especially  in  the  pictorial  arts  is  the  visible 
expression  dull;  in  repose  not  that  of  the  spiritually  deep  in  itself,  but 
mere  animal  emptiness;  or  else  sharply  distorted  and  immoderate  in 
characteristic  expression. 

"So  likewise  are  the  forms  of  the  human  body  and  their  movements 
dead;  the  arms  hung  on  the  body,  the  bones  not  articulated,  or 
else  awkward,  angular,  sharply  moved;  so  likewise  the  figure  untem- 
pered,  dumpy,  or  immoderately  meagre  and  extended.  Upon  the  ex- 
ternals, on  the  contrary,  garments,  hair,  weapons  and  other  adornments 
much  more  love  and  care  are  bestowed;  but  the  folds  of  the  garments, 
e.  g.,  remain  wooden  and  independent,  without  fitting  themselves  to 
the  form  of  the  body  (as  we  can  see  often  enough  in  the  old-time  pic- 
tures of  the  Virgin  Mary,  and  the  saints). 

"Even  so  are  the  earliest  poems  incomplete,  disconnected,  monot- 
onous, only  ruled  remotely  by  one  idea  or  sensation;  or  else  wild,  ve- 
hement, the  different  ideas  confusedly  entangled,  and  the  whole  not 
yet  brought  together  into  a  firm  organization."* 

Nevertheless  these  early  monuments  have  a  certain  rude  impress- 
iveness  and  grandeur  which  has  been  felt  by  many  generations  of  the 
human  race  who  have  appeared,  admired,  and  passed  away  in  the  pres- 
ence of  these  imposing  memorials  of  the  thoughts  and  aspirations  of 
the  earlier  times. 

Progress  in  art  has  arisen  mainly  from  a  clearer  perception  of  the 
ideal.  It  may  be  divided  into  three  stages,  called  by  Hegel  the  Sym- 
*HegePs  Aesthetik,  II,  p.  246. 


THE   SYMBOLIC  ART.  77 

bolical,  the  Classical,  and  the  Romantic.  These  differ  from  each  other, 
not  only  in  a  progressive  elevation  of  the  faculties  addressed  by  Art, 
as  suggested  by  the  classification  of  the  previous  chapter,  but  also  in 
the  mode  of  conceiving  the  ideal  itself.  The  complete  discussion  of 
these  ideas  and  their  illustration  in  the  various  arts  would  take  us  far 
beyond  present  limits.'  The  barest  outline  will  suffice. 

SECTION    FIRST.       SYMBOLIC    ART. 

The  Symbol  is  a  natural  object,  having  a  plain  relation  to 
the  idea  it  represents;  thus,  the  lion  is  the  symbol  of  courage;  the  fox, 
of  cunning;  the  ox,  of  patience;  the  sheep  of  simplicity;  the  elephant 
of  docility  and  power;  etc.  .  Besides  these  natural  symbols  derived 
from  the  animal  kingdom,  there  are  also  abstract  symbols,  whose 
meaning  is  almost  universal;  such  as  the  triangle,  symbol  of  the  trinity; 
the  circle,  of  eternity;  etc.  Yet  each  one  of  these  natural  objects  has  in 
it  something  more  than  the  limited  meaning  it  affords  as  a  symbol.  Thus 
the  lion  is  not  only  courageous,  but  fierce  and  treacherous;  the  ox  is 
patient,  but  also  slow  and  stupid;  the  fox  is  cunning,  but  in  his  own  de- 
gree is  fierce  and  blood-thirsty  also.  And  in  this  we  find  a  natural 
limitation  or  inherent  ambiguity  in  symbolical  art. 

Symbolical  art  is  in  general  the  entire  art  of  the  Oriental  nations. 
To  this  class  belong  the  towers  of  Babel,  Pyramids,  Pagodas  and  Temples 
of  China  and  India,  the  sculpture  and  temples  of  Assyria  and  Egypt; 
Myths,  the  Niebelungen  lied,  etc;  as  well  as  much  of  the  poetry  of  the 
Old  Testament,  as,  e.  g.,  parts  of  Ezekiel,  etc.  In  all  these  the  mean- 
ing is  unclear;  each  work  of  this  period  is  a  sphynx,  an  enigma. 

The  sculpture  of  the  symbolical  period  is  mighty  and  vast.  One 
thinks  of  the  colossal  Memnon,  the  statues  at  Karnac,  the  figures  of 
gods  in  China  and  India,  monstrous  figures  outraging  all  principles  of 
natural  form,  yet  strangely  impressive  to  so  many  millions  of  the  hu- 
man race,  who  have  found  in  these  their  clearest  emblem  of  the 
Divine.  In  all  these  symbolical  productions  the  beautiful,  as  such,  is  not 
sought.  It  is  the  mighty,  the  grand,  the  eternal,  the  everlasting,  the 
all-creating; — these  are  the  vague  forms  in  which  the  Eternal  and 
Absolute  suggests  itself  first  to  the  human  race. 

We  find  that  in  every  nation,  whenever  movement  takes  place, 
the  symbolical  in  art  gradually  merges  into  the  beautiful.  Temples 
lose  something  of  their  massiveness  in  favor  of  lightness  and  symme- 
try. The  gigantic  structures  of  Egypt  give  place  to  the  delicate  pro- 
portions of  the  Parthenon  and  Acropolis.  The  many-armed  gods 
yield  precedence  to  the  scarcely  super-human  forms  of  Jupiter,  Mi- 


78  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

nerva,  Venus  and  Apollo.  The  eyes  of  Zeuxis  and  Apelles  discover 
for  mankind  the  beauty  everywhere  veiled  in  nature.  Thus  Art  comes 
to  the  classical  period,  when  beauty  has  become  complete,  in  so  far  as 
it  resides  in  form. 

SECTION    SECOND.       CLASSICAL    ART. 

Classical  art  is  above  all  unconscious  of  any  want  of  harmony 
between  the  ideal  and  the  means  by  which  it  must  be  expressed.  The 
human  form,  that  temple  of  in-dwelling  spirit,  is  especially  the  chosen 
type  of  this  period,  and  sculpture,  therefore,  its  distinctive  expression. 
Of  the  content  and  meaning  of  this  form  of  utterance  there  will  be 
occasion  to  speak  in  the  next  chapter.  .For  the  present  let  it  be  ob- 
served that  sculpture  shows  a  progress  towards  the  spiritual  in  art. 
The  Greek  artist,  in  forsaking  the  vast  masses  of  architecture  in  favor 
of  the  comparatively  insignificant  bit  of  marble  only  so  large  as  the 
human  form,  was  beginning  to  learn  the  same  lesson  that  was  taught 
to  one  of  old,  hid  in  the  cleft  of  the  rock,  that  not  in  the  lightning, 
the  earthquake,  nor  in  the  thunder  could  one  find  God,  but  in  the 
"  still  small  voice."  Yet  here  we  anticipate,  for  the  voice,  as  a  token 
of  soul,  was  the  peculiar  ideal  of  the  Romantic. 

At  present  the  artist  advances  only  so  far  as  to  discover  in  the 
human  form  the  most  complete  expression  of  the  beautiful.  Thus 
Hegel  says  (Bryant's  translation): 

"  The  Greek  ideal  has  for  its  basis  an  unchangeable  harmony  between 
spirit  and  sensuous  form  —  the  unalterable  serenity  of  the  immortal 
gods;  but  this  calm  has  about  it  something  cold  and  inanimate.  Clas- 
sic art  has  not  comprehended  the  true  essence  of  the  divine  nature, 
nor  penetrated  to  the  depths  of  the  soul.  It  has  not  known  how  to  de- 
velop its  inmost  powers  in  their  opposition,  and  again  to  re-establish 
their  harmony.  All  this  phase  of  existence,  the  evil,  the  sinful,  the 
unhappy,  moral  suffering,  the  revolt  of  the  will,  remorse,  and  the 
agonies  of  the  soul,  are  unknown  to  it.  Classic  art  does  not  pass  be- 
yond the  proper  domain  of  the  veritable  ideal. 

"  As  to  its  realization  in  history,  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say  that 
we  must  seek  it  among  the  Greeks.  Classic  beauty,  with  the  infinite 
wealth  of  ideas  and  forms  which  compose  its  domain,  has  been  allotted 
to  the  Greek  people,  and  we  ought  to  render  homage  to  them  for  hav- 
ing raised  art  to  its  highest  vitality." 

This  was  the  perfect  completion  of  formal  beauty.  All  the  quali- 
ties of  symmetry,  proportion,  harmony,  unity,  and  the  like  that  enter 
into  and  constitute  perfection  of  form,  are  here  manifested  in  exquisite 


THE  CLASSICAL  AND  THE  ROMANTIC  ART.  70 

loveliness.    As  Hegel  says:  "There  neither  is  nor  ever  can  be  anything 
more  beautiful." 

Greek  plastic  art  attained  its  highest  achievements  in  the  time  of 
Phidias.  Immediately  after  this  Socrates,  Plato  and  Aristotle,  succes- 
sively, "  effected  for  man,  once  for  all,  the  perfect  distinction  between 
idea  and  sensuous  image — between  content  and  form  —  the  indissolu- 
ble union  of  which,  it  can  not  be  too  much  insisted  upon,  constitutes 
the  central  characteristic  in  classic  art.  Thus  had  the  human  mind 
passed  beyond  the  limits  of  the  classic  ideal,  and  henceforth  the  his- 
tory of  classic  art  is  but  a  history  of  its  decline  and  fall."  * 

SECTION  THIRD.       ROMANTIC    ART. 

The  key  of  romantic  art  is  "  internal  beauty  of  spirit"  as  distin- 
guished from  outward  beauty  of  form.  This  ideal  began  to  appear  in 
later  sculpture.  We  have  a  token  of  it  in  the  well-known  Venus  de 
Medici,  where  the  effort  is  made  to  represent  the  modesty  of  a  delicate 
woman  appearing  unclad  in  public.  The  conception  is  just,  but  untrue 
to  the  spirit  of  the  classical  ideal;  for  in  this  nothing  is  represented 
but  the  eternal,  the  enduring.  This  conflict  between  womanly  delicacy 
and  the  public  gaze,  creates  shame,  an  unbeautiful  and  temporary 
affection. 

Collision  is  the  principal  means  of  the  romantic.  By  collision  is 
meant  a  conflict  between  opposing  principles,  in  the  out-come  of  which 
the  superiority  of  the  nobler  principle  is  made  to  appear.  Collision  is 
totally  foreign  to  architecture,  and  almost  so  to  sculpture.  Later 
sculpture,  as  the  well-known  Laocoon,  introduces  this  element,  but 
to  the  destruction  of  absolute  formal  beauty.  The  work  of  art  is  no 
longer  beautiful  out-right  and  in  itself,  but  beautiful  on  the  whole, 
and  considering  what  it  means. 

In  romantic  art  it  is  not  the  human  form,  the  outward  covering 
which  furnishes  the  artist  his  ideal  of  beauty,  but  the  inner,  the  soul, 
the  disposition,  the  life.  Hence  sculpture  which  has  to  do  mainly  with 
form,  gives  place  to  painting,  which  affords  perspective,  places  its 
heroes  in  suitable  scenes,  and  contrasts  one  personage  with  another; 
painting  in  turn  gives  place  to  music  and  poetry.  The  meaning  of 
these  various  changes  will  appear  in  the  next  chapter  where  we  have 
to  examine  each  art  in  its  turn. 

In  all  this  later  cycle  of  art  the  key-tone  is  unmistakeable;  it  is 
beauty  of  spirit  rather  than  of  the  form. 

*  Bryant. 


80  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

"  The  material  of  romantic  art,  at  least  with  reference  to  the 
divine,  is  extremely  limited.  For,  in  the  first  place,  as  we  have  already 
pointed  out,  nature  is  deprived  of  its  divine  attributes;  sea,  mountain, 
and  valley,  streams,  springs,  time  and  night,  as  well  as  the  universal 
process  of  nature,  have  all  lost  their  value  with  respect  to  the  repre- 
sentation and  content  of  the  absolute.  The  images  of  nature  are  no 
longer  set  forth  symbolically.  They  are  stripped  of  the  characteristic 
which  rendered  their  forms  and  activities  appropriate  as  traits 
of  a  divinity.  For  all  the  great  questions  concerning  the 
origin  of  the  world  —  concerning  the  whence,  the  whither,  the 
wherefore  of  created  nature  and  humanity,  together  with  all  the 
symbolic  and  plastic  attempts  to  solve  and  represent  these  prob- 
lems—  have  vanished  in  consequence  of  the  revelation  of  God  in  the 
spirit;  and  even  the  gay,  thousand-hued  earth,  with  all  its  classically- 
figured  characters,  deeds,  and  events,  is  swallowed  up  in  spirit,  con- 
densed in  the  single  luminous  point  of  the  absolute  and  its  eternal 
process  of  redemption  (Erlosensgeschichte).  The  entire  content, 
therefore,  is  thus  concentrated  upon  the  internality  of  the  spirit  —  upon 
the  perception,  the  imagination,  the  soul  —  which  strives  after  unity 
with  the  truth,  and  seeks  and  struggles  to  produce  and  to  retain  the 
divine  in  the  individual  (Subjekt).  Thus,  though  the  soul  is  still  des- 
tined to  pass  through  the  world,  it  no  longer  pursues  merely  worldly 
aims  and  undertakings.  Rather,  it  has  for  its  essential  purpose  and 
endeavor  the  inner  struggle  of  man  within  himself,  and  his  reconcilia- 
tion with  God,  and  brings  into  representation  only  personality  and  its 
conservation,  together  with  appliances  for  the  accomplishment  of  this 
end.  The  heroism  which  can  here  make  its  appearance  is  by  no  means 
a  heroism  which  makes  its  own  law,  establishes  regulations,  creates  and 
transforms  conditions,  but  a  heroism  of  submission,  for  which  every- 
thing is  settled  and  determined  beforehand,  and  to  which  there  thence- 
forth remains  only  the  task  of  regulating  temporal  affairs  according  to 
it,  of  applying  to  the  existing  world  that  higher  principle  which  has 
validity  in  and  for  itself,  and,  finally,  of  rendering  it  practically  valu- 
able in  the  affairs  of  every-day  life.  We  may  now  comprise 
in  a  single  word  this  relation  between  content  and  form  as  it 
appears  in  the  romantic  —  for  here  it  is  that  this  relation  attains 
to  its  complete  characterization.  It  is  this:  just  because  the  ever- 
increasing  universality  and  restless  working  depth  of  the  soul 
constitute  the  fundamental  principle  of  the  romantic,  the  key-note 
thereof  is  musical,  and,  in  connection  with  the  particularized  content 
of  the  imagination,  lyrical.  For  romantic  art  the  lyrical  is,  as  it 


THE   IDEAL  IN  THE  DIFFERENT  FORMS  OF  ART  81 

were,  the  elementary  characteristic  —  a  tone  which  the  epic  and  the 
drama  also  strike,  and  which  breathes  about  the  works  of  the  arts  of 
visible  representation  themselves,  like  a  universal,  fragrant  odor  of  the 
soul;  for  here  spirit  and  soul  will  speak  to  spirit  and  soul  through  all 
their  images."* 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-FIFTH. 

THE  IDEAL  AS  MANIFESTED  IN  THE  DIFFERENT  FORMS  OF  ART. 

In  each  one  of  the  different  arts  we  are  able  to  trace  the  progress 
of  the  human  mind  through  the  various  stages  of  art-conception  de- 
scribed in  the  previous  chapters,  although  the  complete  progress  is  not 
fully  illustrated  in  any  one  of  them. 

SECTION  FIRST.       ARCHITECTURE. 

The  oldest  of  the  arts  is  architecture.  Hegel  enumerates  three 
general  classes  of  structure  which  are  essentially  symbolical  in  char- 
acter. These  are:  (1)  Works  built  for  a  union  of  people;  such  were 
the  great  works  of  the  Assyrians,  Egyptians,  etc.,  all  of  which  were  in 
effect  religious  works.  So  Goethe  says,  "What  is  holy?  That  which 
binds  many  souls  together." 

(2)  Works  intermediate  between  buildings  and  sculpture.  Such  are 
the  Indian  Pagodas,  the  Obelisks,  the  Memnon,  Sphynx,  and  Labyrinth, 
expressive  of  vague  ideas  or  mystical  conceptions. 

(3)  The  transition  to  the  classical,  as  in  the  Egyptian  tombs,  Pyr- 
amids, etc. 

Classical  architecture  we  find  in  the  Greek  temples.  Romantic 
architecture  finds  its  expression  in  the  Gothic  Cathedrals  of  the  middle 
ages. 

Architecture  in  general  is  related  to  the  Ideal  as  the  expression  of 
the  symmetrical,  the  regular,  the  united,  the  grand;  —  the  utterance  of 
spirit  which  has  seized  the  material  from  without  and  formed  it,  but 
which  is  neither  represented  nor  conceived  as  residing  in  it.  So,  e.  <?., 
the  Memnon  had  no  voice  of  its  own,  but  was  played  on  from  without 
by  the  rising  sun. 

*Hegel,  Bryant's  translation. 


82  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 


SECTION    SECOND.       SCULPTURE. 

Sculpture  has  for  its  central  idea  "the  wonder  that  soul  should 
dwell  in  body."*  Again:  "  Sculpture,  in  general,  perceives  the  wonder 
that  spirit  imagines  itself  in  the  wholly  material,  and  so  forms  this  ex- 
ternality that  it  becomes  actually  present  in  it,  and  acknowledges 
therein  the  suitable  look  of  itself." 

"Sculpture  is  the  peculiar  art  of  the  classical  ideal  as  such."f 
Thus  it  belongs  properly  to  the  classical  epoch,  and  the  few  works  of 
the  symbolic  period  are  to  be  regarded  rather  as  apprentice  works  in 
which  the  artist  is  acquiring  the  plastic  control  over  his  material,  than 
as  independent  and  significant  expressions  of  the  ideal. 

Hegel  speaks  of  three  styles  in  classical  sculpture:  1.  The  Hardt 
Austere,  Strong,  characterized  by  great  masses  and  simple  content. 

2.  The  Purely  Beautiful,  characterized  by  a  more  living  beauty  ^ 
and  represented  in  the  works  of  Phidias. 

3.  The  Pleasing  style,  where  beauty  gives  up  something  of  its 
eternal  repose  for  the  sake  of  gaining  a  greater  appearance  of  human 
interest.     The  Apollo  Belvidere  if  not  properly  to  be  reckoned  in  this 
category,  is  at  least  transitional  between  the  style  next  preceding  and 
this. 

The  Content  and  meaning  of  this  form  of  art  is  already  fully  ex- 
pressed in  the  previous  chapter  on  "  Classic  Art,"  to  which  reference 
is  again  made.  The  pith  of  it  all  is  in  the  following  sentence  in  the 
third  volume  of  the  Aesthetik:  "Sculpture  has  for  its  principle  and 
content,  Spiritual  Individuality  as  the  classical  ideal,  so  that  the  Inner 
and  Spiritual  finds  expression  to  the  spirit  in  the  immediate  bodily  ap- 
pearance, which  art  has  here  to  represent  in  actual  art-existence."  Or, 
again,  as  Benard  phrases  it,  "  The  Content  of  sculpture  is  the  essence, 
the  substantial,  true,  invariable  part  of  character,"  as  distinguished 
from  what  is  accidental  and  transient. 

So,  also,  Mr.  Wm.  M.Bryant:  "Sculpture  constitutes  the  first  step 
in  advance  beyond  Architecture,  and  it  pauses  with  this  jirst  step.  It 
takes  as  its  object  the  simple  form  of  the  human  body,  and  by  this 
form  it  expresses  spirit,  because  spirit  does  not  yet  know  itself  apart 
from  this  form." 

Doubtless  the  artist  turned  himself  to  the  human  form  as  the  most 
suitable  expression  of  the  ideal  in  consequence  of  living  in  Greece,  a 
land  so  mild  of  climate  and  so  simple  in  mode  of  life  as  to  afford  on 
every  side  attractive  examples  of  fully  developed,  healthful,  beautiful 

*  Hegel,    f  Bryant's  Hegel's  Philosophy  of  Art,  "  Introductory  Essay." 


SCULPTURE  AND  PAINTING.  83 

men  and  women.  This  outer  manifestation  of  vital  beauty  was  encour- 
aged by  the  influence  of  the  games  and  gymnastic  training,  so  that  taking 
one  reason  with  another  it  may  be  doubted  whether  any  part  of  the 
world  at  any  period  of  its  history  ever  afforded  a  sculptor  so  satisfactory 
a  surrounding  as  Greece  in  its  prime.  At  the  same  time  intellectual 
life  had  become  more  vigorous.  The  imagination  had  long  been  kin- 
dled by  the  Homeric  poems,  recited  universally  by  the  strolling  min- 
strels. The  constant  wars  between  the  different  States,  and  the  vary- 
ing fortunes  of  defense  against  the  Persians  did  much  tc  stimulate  the 
mind  and  bring  out  the  force  of  individual  character.  Thus  it  happen- 
ed that  the  works  of  Phidias  were  produced  soon  after  the  times  of 
Pythagorus,  and  shortly  before  the  days  of  Socrates.  This  was  the 
moment  when  the  classical  idea  reached  an  equilibrium  between  form 
and  content. 

As  already  pointed  out,  Socrates,  and  after  him  Plato  and  Aristotle, 
accomplished  once  for  all  the  separation  between  form  and  content  in 
art.  The  human  spirit  went  forward  to  a  higher  development;  it 
turned  inward  to  deeper  and  more  immortal  thoughts.  It  was  then  that 
Romantic  Art  became  inevitable,  and  therein  a  revelation  of  the  ideal 
in  living,  self-determined  beauty,  for  which  sculpture  was  inade- 
equate. 

SECTION  THIRD.       PAINTING. 

When  we  think  seriously  upon  the  art  of  painting  and  remembei 
its  list  of  triumphs  from  the  days  of  Appelles  and  Praxiteles  to  Raphael, 
Correggio,  and  Angelo,  and  even  to  our  own  times,  we  cannot  wonder 
that  so  many  writers  upon  art  have  taken  this  as  the  type  and  complete 
expression  of  the  artistic  faculty. 

Painting  represents  the  dawn  and  progress  of  a  deeper  perception 
of  the  beauty  of  the  visible  world.  Evidently  it  began  in  color,  the 
effort  to  represent  the  evanescent  glories  of  the  heavens  at  sunrise  or 
evening,  the  exquisite  tints  of  flowers,  masses  of  foliage,  etc. 

At  first  painting  was  merely  decorative,  and  was  employed  to 
beautify  the  walls  of  the  more  precious  shrines,  the  best  rooms  in  the 
homes  of  the  wealthy,  etc. 

Afterwards  it  became  imitative.  The  forms  and  tints  of  flowers 
and  fruits  were  its  subjects.  We  trace  this  very  distinctly  in  the 
well-known  anecdote  of  the  two  great  Greek  painters  who  had  a  trial 
of  skill.  One  of  them  painted  a  plate  of  cherries  so  naturally  that  the 
birds  came  and  pecked  at  them;  the  other  represented  a  fly  on  the  nose 
of  a  portrait  so  naturally  that  the  other  artist  attempted  to  brush  it  off 
in  order  to  examine  the  picture  better.  Therein  he  acknowledged  his 


84  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

superior;  for  he  himself  had  deceived  only  the  unreasoning  birds,  while 
the  other  had  deceived  an  artist. 

Painting  in  any  large  sense  involves  at  least  three  arts:  Drawing 
(the  art  of  representing  outlines  as  they  really  appear),  Color  and  Per- 
spective. The  appearance  of  solid  projection,  that  is  to  say,  the  ap- 
pearance of  reality,  depends  upon  the  latter.  There  is  reason  to  sup- 
pose that  color  and  drawing  were  brought  to  a  high  degree  of  excel- 
lence by  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  as  indicated  by  the  anecdote 
given  above,  and  by  the  Pompeian  discoveries,  where  in  some  of  the 
rooms  the  colors  remain  to  the  present  day  as  clear  as  when  first  put 
upon  the  walls,  nearly  two  thousand  years  ago. 

The  subjects  of  painting  in  that  olden  time,  as  we  have  said,  were 
flowers,  fruits  and  other  natural  objects  not  requiring  difficult  perspec- 
tive for  their  intelligible  representation,  and  the  gods  and  goddesses 
of  the  popular  mythology,  episodes  from  Homer,  and  the  poets, 
etc. 

To  the  painters  (and  their  brethren  the  poets)  mankind  owes  its 
perception  of  the  beautiful  in  nature.  The  plowman,  wearily  treading 
in  the  furrow  the  livelong  day,  sees  not  the  fleecy  clouds  above  him, 
nor  is  he  inspired  by  the  mighty  pinnacles  and  peaks  of  the  mountain 
horizon  towering  so  grandly,  as  if  matter  herself  were  striving  upward 
toward  her  God.  Nay,  he  overlooks  even  the  delicate  perfection  of 
the  daisies  and  buttercups  whose  sunshine  his  furrow  so  relentlessly 
ends.  Yet  in  the  water  he  drinks  to  quench  his  thirst  he  might,  if  he 
would,  see  all  these  distant  glories  repeated;  as  if,  out  of  this  pure 
fountain  of  refreshing,  the  voice  of  God  called  to  man  to  look  upward 
for  the  secret  of  the  beautiful  and  the  holy.  But  it  is  only  once  in  a 
thousand  years  that  a  Burns  rises  above  the  depressing  influence  of  a 
plowman's  environment.  It  is  the  idle  painter,  or  his  brother,  the  poet, 
lolling  at  ease  under  the  shading  oak  to  whom  this  deeper  vision  of 
beauty  is  revealed. 

When  we  speak  of  painting  as  a  form  of  high  art,  representa- 
tive of  the  spiritual  meanings  of  nature  and  life,  we  immediately  think 
of  that  glorious  company  of  great  Italian  masters  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  chief  among  whom  were  Raphael  (1483-1520),  Leonardo  da 
Vinci  (1452-1519),  Titian  (1477-1576),  Michael  Angelo  (1474-1563), 
Tintoret  (1512-1594),  Paul  Veronese  (1532-1588).  Nor  can  we  forget 
their  eminent  successors  in  the  next  century,  Claude  Lorraine  (1600- 
1682),  and  Rembrandt  (1606-1669). 

In  the  productions  of  these  great  artists  we  find  the  art  of  Paint- 
ing unfolded  in  all  its  capacities  except  that  of  strict,  literal  realism — 


SCULPTURE  AND  PAINTING.  85 

imitation  of  nature  as  such;  this  was  left  for  later  masters.  Every  pro- 
duction of  these  old  masters  has  its  mannerisms.  Natural  forms  are 
conventionalized,  or  at  times  distorted,  with  unhesitating  boldness. 
Historical  anachronisms  are  common  in  the  historical  pieces.  But  they 
show,  nevertheless,  a  life,  a  meaning,  an  expression  of  spirit,  such  as 
nowhere  existed  in  this  art  before. 

Were  we  to  analyze  the  impressions  they  severally  produce  upon 
us,  we  should  find  certain  marked  differences  in  the  faculties  to 
which  they  appeal,  as  pointed  out  in  Chapter  XXIII.  Thus,  e.  #.,  the 
works  of  Titian  and  Paul  Veronese  are  noted  for  their  magnificent  and 
exquisite  coloring.  In  this  quality  they  appeal  to  the  "  pleasing  of 
sensation,"  and  less  decidedly  to  the  spiritual  as  such.  Raphael  is 
noted  for  the  expression  of  his  works.  They  are  characterized  by  a 
serene  and  matchless  grace,  such  as  one  seeks  in  vain  elsewhere. 
Michael  Angelo,  on  the  contrary,  is  neither  a  great  colorist,  nor  a  com- 
poser of  graceful  forms.  But  he  conceives  with  such  superhuman 
boldness,  and  pierces  so  deeply  into  the  very  pith  and  marrow  of  the 
world  about  him,  that  he  stands  recognized  on  all  hands  as  one  of  the 
very  greatest  minds  who  have  made  human  nature  illustrious  by  their 
participation  in  it. 

The  art  of  Painting  also  shows  a  progress  beyond  sculpture,  in  the 
direction  of  the  spiritual.  The  massive  matter  of  architecture,  and  the 
solid  dimensions  of  sculpture,  have  here  given  place  to  merely  the  ap- 
pearance of  matter.  But  this  diminution  of  material  is  accompanied 
by  a  most  important  increase  in  power  of  expression,  and  this  espec- 
ially in  the  direction  of  a  more  complete  mastery  of  the  scale  of  beauty. 
For  here  at  the  basis  of  it  we  have  the  wonderful  delights  of 
color  and  "tone,"  an  entire  new  kingdom  of  sense-gratification. 
Every  facility  for  representing  human  relations  and  deeds,  which 
sculpture  or  basso-relievo  could  furnish,  here  exists  entire,  and  in 
the  far  greater  perfection  of  natural  perspective.  Only  in  a  single 
direction  is  there  a  loss,  namely  in  the  direction  of  the  sublime, 
in  which  architecture  certainly  has  greater  power.  Yet  this 
concession  is  immeasurably  atoned  for  by  the  wonderful  increase 
in  power  to  represent  the  feelings  of  the  soul.  For  while 
Architecture  gave  us  the  mighty  enigmas  of  Egypt,  and  the 
everlasting  beauty  of  the  Parthenon;  and  Sculpture  revealed  to  man  the 
beauty  and  dignity  of  his  own  form  when  permeated  by  a  noble  soul, 
and  thus  by  images  of  Mercury  and  Jupiter  led  his  mind  toward  the  true 
God;  Painting  has  given  to  mankind  not  only  the  beauties  of  field  and 
flower,  and  preserved  for  him  a  life-like  semblance  of  the  living  faces 


86  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

of  its  heroes,  but  has  portrayed  in  bodily  form  the  incarnate  sufferings 
of  his  Redeemer. 

SECTION  FOUKTH.       MUSIC. 

The  three  forms  of  art  previously  examined  have  this  in  common, 
that  they  address  the  observer  by  means  of  forms  permanently  existing 
in  space.  Architecture  deals  in  matter  in  vast  masses,  only  a  small  pro- 
portion of  which  in  any  single  form  comes  into  actual  contact  with 
spirit.  The  exterior,  the  form,  is  shaped  and  fashioned  by  spirit  ac- 
cording to  its  own  ideal.  In  a  pyramid,  for  example,  how  slight  a  pro- 
portion of  the  whole  is  the  surface.  The  inner  part  does  indeed  bear 
the  impress  of  spirit  in  the  fact  of  its  location  so  as  to  maintain  the 
integrity  of  the  form;  yet  this  relation  to  spirit  is  faint  at  most.  In  a 
temple  the  mass  of  matter  is  greatly  reduced  and  the  interior  parts  are, 
distinctly  subservient  to  the  mechanical  necessities  of  structure.  Here 
therefore,  soul  has  left  its  impress  upon  a  much  greater  proportion  by 
the  whole  mass  than  in  the  pyramid. 

Sculpture  again  greatly  reduces  the  quantity  of  matter,  and  is  much 
more  particular  about  the  quality  of  it.  Only  the  finest  marble  will 
answer  to  the  artist's  demands.  But  here  art  has  to  do  with  the  form  and 
with  the  surface,  which  practically  is  the  form.  The  inner  is  inert,  dead. 
Yet  sculpture  conceives  of  this  inner  part  as  having  been  alive,  as  is  indi- 
cated by  the  care  with  which  muscles  and  joints  and  all  particulars  which 
indicate  internal  organization  are  represented.  The  spirit  does  not  reside 
even  in  the  most  speaking  statue;  yet  one  thinks  it  a  suitable  residence 
of  soul,  and  scarcely  wonders  at  the  miracle  of  Psyche. 

In  painting,  the  quantity  of  matter  is  still  further  reduced,  and  art 
has  to  do  with  forms,  and  the  appearances  of  matter,  by  means  of  which, 
as  we  saw,  relations  of  soul  are  manifested. 

Yet  all  these  forms  of  art  deal  with  forms  permanently  existing  in 
space,  outside  of  and  entirely  separate  from  the  most  appreciative  ob- 
server. As  Hegel  well  says,  "  Painting,  as  we  saw,  may  likewise  give 
expression  in  physiognomy  and  shape,  to  the  inner  life  and  energy,  the 
determinations  and  passions  of  the  heart,  the  situations,  conflicts  and 
fate  of  the  soul;  but  what  we  have  always  before  us  in  painting,  are 
objective  appearances,  from  which  the  observing  I,  as  inner  self,  re- 
mains entirely  separate.  One  may  never  so  completely  absorb  and 
sink  himself  in  the  subject,  the  situation,  the  character,  the  form,  of  a 
statue  or  painting,  admire  the  art  work,  gush  over  it,  nay,  may  complete- 
ly fill  himself  therewith; — it  matters  not,  these  works  of  art  are  and  re- 
main independent  objects,  in  review  of  which  we  come  not  beyond  the 
position  of  an  observer." 


MUSIC.  87 

Music,  on  the  contrary,  builds  no  permanent  fabric  in  space.  It 
has  no  form  which  can  be  seen.  It  is  a  voice.  Out  of  the  unseen,  in 
cunningly  modulated  tones,  it  speaks  to  the  heart  of  the  hearer.  Like 
the  voice  itself  it  no  sooner  utters  its  word  than  it  is  silent.  Whenever 
we  would  recall  its  message  we  must  recreate  the  informing 
word. 

In  this  way  music  approaches  the  observer  as  none  of  the  previous 
arts  can.  When  it  is  perceived  it  is  no  longer  something  outside  of 
and  separate  from  the  observer;  it  is  within  him;  it  has  penetrated  into 
the  very  center  of  the  soul.  Hence  its  power  to  absorb  the  observer, 
to  carry  him  along  with  it,  so  that  men  everywhere  "delight  to  sing 
with  the  melody,  to  strike  with  the  measure,  and  in  dance  music  it 
comes  into  the  very  bones." 

This  remarkable  power  of  music  lies  fundamentally  in  the  sense  of 
hearing  to  which  it  appeals,  and  in  time,  which  is  the  material  of  its 
form.  For  by  the  sense  of  hearing  we  are  brought  into  our  nearest 
relations  to  other  souls.  It  is  with  the  ear  that  man  receives  the  word 
of  reproof,  the  approval  of  his  fellow,  and  the  commandment  of  his 
God.  This  wonderful  mechanism  of  hearing  is  particularly  the  sympa- 
thetic channel  of  feeling.  Many  shades  of  emotion  may  be  conveyed 
by  modulations  of  the  speaking  voice,  without  use  of  words.  All  this 
material  of  inflection  and  pitch  relation,  carried  to  an  almost  infinitely 
greater  perfection  of  delicate  organization  than  in  speech,  Music  em- 
ploys with  such  cunning  mastership  as  to  indicate  very  plainly  that 
this  was  one  of  the  ends  intended  in  all  the  delicate  organization  of  the 
inner  ear. 

But  music  rests  its  greatest  power  in  its  modulation  in  time.  The 
beat,  the  measure,  chimes  in  with  the  human  pulse,  hurries  it  or  retards 
it;  the  motive  brightens  up  the  rhythm,  modifies  it,  characterizes  and 
individualizes  the  different  moments  in  a  piece;  and  measure,  motiviza- 
tion,  and  rate  of  movement,  all  combine  with  the  melodic  and  harmonic 
filling  up,  to  complete  a  form  of  utterance  in  which  soul  speaks  to  soul 
not  of  its  ideas  and  notions,  but  of  its  feelings,  its  general  states.  Thus 
the  content  of  music,  in  general,  is  JZmotion.  "  It  extends  itself  in 
every  direction  for  the  expression  of  all  distinct  sensations  and  shades, 
of  joyousness,  serenity,  jokes,  humor,  shoutings  and  rejoicings  of  soul  ; 
as  well  as  the  graduations  of  anguish,  sorrow,  grief,  lamentation,  dis- 
tress, pain,  regret,  etc.;  and,  finally,  aspiration,  worship,  love,  etc., 
belong  to  the  proper  sphere  of  musical  expression."  (Hegel's  Aesthetik, 
III.  144.) 

Of  the  material  of  music  we   have  already  learned  in  the  earlier 


88  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

lessons  of  this  course.  Its  form  is  a  symmetrically  co-ordinated  suc- 
cession of  movements,  expressive  of  a  sequence  or  cycle  of  feelings. 

Thus  music  in  its  very  nature  expresses  spiritual  relations.  True 
the  material  of  hearing  may  lend  itself  to  play.  Mere  jingle  is  not 
without  charm.  Agreeable,  piquant,  or  bizarre  combinations  of  tone- 
color  may  tickle  or  delight  the  sense  of  hearing  without  uttering  a 
message  to  the  soul.  But  properly  conceived  all  these  are  part  of  the 
vocabulary  of  this  voice  ;  part  of  its  material  for  spiritual  communica- 
tion. Therefore  music  is  in  itself  a  romantic  art.  And  it  quite  agrees 
with  this  idea  that  its  systematic  and  artistic  development  is  the  very 
latest  of  all  the  arts. 

Hence  the  terms  symbolical  and  classical  have  only  a  modified  ap- 
plication in  it,  as  we  shall  hereafter  see.  The  earliest  attempts  at  music, 
such  as  the  Gregorian  or  Ambrosian  hymns,  the  oldest  songs  of  the 
church,  we  may  well  enough  style  symbolical.  They  fully  agree  with 
the  peculiarities  of  this  epoch  in  all  the  other  arts.  The  true  handling 
of  the  material,  the  value  of  tone  as  tone,  and  the  significance  of  time 
and  melodic  modulation  they  have  not  yet  fathomed.  And  yet  their 
quaint  cadences  have  a  strange  power,  and  are  the  source  of  all  the  dis- 
tinctly "  ecclesiastical  "  conventionalities  of  music. 

The  classic  in  music  exists  in  all  those  works  which  afford  a  content 
entirely  harmonious  and  commensurate  with  their  form.  Such  works 
are  those  of  Bach,  Haydn,  Mozart,  and  part  of  those  of  Beethoven  and 
Schubert. 

In  many  works  of  the  latter  two  composers,  form  and  content  do 
not  coincide  ;  the  beauty  of  the  form  as  form  is  sacrificed  to  the 
expressiveness  and  meaning  of  the  work.  Here,  therefore,  form  is  less 
than  content;  and  we  have  the  romantic  moment  in  art.  To  this  cate- 
gory belong  many  of  the  Beethoven  works, notably  such  as  the  "moon- 
light "  sonata,  and  the  last  two  or  three,  almost  everything  of  Chopin's 
and  Schumann's,  etc.  The  true  relation  of  all  this,  we  shall  learn  later. 
(See  Parts  V.  and  VI.) 

SECTION   FIFTH.       POETRY. 

We  have  seen  from  the  beginning  of  this  discussion  that  the  beau- 
tiful is  the  expression  of  the  ideal  by  means  of  forms  directly  addressed 
to  the  senses  and  intuitions,  rather  than  to  the  reason.  In  architecture 
the  ideal  merely  begins  to  appear;  in  sculpture  it  shines  out  more 
plainly,  though  even  in  this  form  the  spirit  is  not  living;  in  painting 
are  represented  transition  movements  of  human  life,  the  very  point  of 
spiritual  defeat  or  triumph,  and  thus  we  go  deeper  than  the  merely 


POETRY.  89 

outward  form,  and  become  conscious  of  the  inner  life  of  spirit  as  repre- 
sented in  the  appearance  before  us.  In  music  we  go  still  further  in  the 
same  direction.  For  here  we  have  not  a  representation  which  stands  out- 
side of  us  and  over  against  us,  independent,  to  appreciate  which  re- 
quires that  the  beholder  should  at  least  yield  himself  to  it;  but  instead  of 
it  a  finely  organized  and  infinitely  complex  voice,  which  tells  its  story  di- 
rectly to  the  soul,  and  as  already  pointed  out  moves  and  excites  the 
hearer,  "  carries  him  along  with  it,  quite  otherwise  than  the  way "  in 
which  other  arts  affect  him.  Music  represents  the  self-moved  activity 
of  the  soul.  In  no  other  art  is  the  difference  so  great  between  the  in- 
spired and  the  merely  mechanically-put-together. 

Yet  music  also  has  its  limitations.  As  already  pointed  out  in  thfc 
passages  on  Romantic  art,  the  true  meaning  of  this  stage  of  develop- 
ment is  the  final  beauty  of  spirit  attained  through  conflict  and  suffering. 
The  ideal  of  the  romantic  is  none  other  than  that  of  the  Christian  re- 
ligion itself ;  the  attainment  of  complete  repose,  and  blessedness  of 
spirit,  in  which  bodily  sense  and  appetite  and  all  the  negative  or  sinful 
elements  of  the  moral  nature  are  finally  subjected  to  the  reason,  itself 
illumined  by  clear  vision  of  the  truth,  and  the  whole  spirit  glorified 
into  the  image  of  the  Divine.  This  state  is  attainable  only  through 
conflicts,  in  which  one  after  another  the  evils  of  the  nature  are  met  and 
overcome;  nor  yet  by  conflict  only,  but  by  conflict  sustained  in  faith 
and  love.  This  is  the  Christian  ideal.  Nor  is  it  the  mission  of  art  to 
instruct  or  definitely  or  directly  aid  the  individual  in  this  work.  Yet 
in  an  indirect  way  it  does  do  this  and  always  will.  For  it  is  the  artist 
who  earliest  sees  the  beauty  of  every  natural  appearance,  the  deeper 
meaning  of  the  lake,  and  ocean;  and  it  is  the  artist,  the  poet,  who  sees 
deepest  into  the  depths  of  the  soul.  Hence  in  art- works  one  finds  re- 
presented the  moments  of  this  redemption  conflict,  through  which  every 
individual  must  pass;  seeing  which  the  tempted  soul  takes  heart  again, 
knowing  that  some  one  has  already  passed  by  the  same  path  to 
victory. 

Now  these  conflicts  of  the  spirit  are  not  representable  in  architecture 
or  sculpture.  Later  sculpture  tried  this;  but  it  is  a  work  foreign  to  the 
proper  genius  of  that  art.  In  painting  they  may  come  to  a  limited  ex- 
tent. But  a  painting  is  necessarily  but  a  single  moment  of  life;  it  gives 
us  only  a  position,  a  relation,  a  contrast.  Whereas  no  account  of  a 
soul-conflict  is  intelligible  which  does  not  give  us  the  opposing  princi- 
ples, and  also  their  collision  and  final  resolution  in  the  triumph  of  the 
good;  and  this  is  a  story  too  long  for  painting. 

Music  can  give  us  a  prolonged  action  of  the  soul,  a  life-history,  and 


\ 


90  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

in  this  is  its  great  superiority  in  spirituality  to  the  other  forms  of  art. 
Nevertheless  we  come  here  to  its  limitations.  A  collision  is  an  opposi- 
tion of  evil  and  good.  The  good,  in  music,  is  the  consonant,  the  well- 
sounding,  the  melodious,  the  pleasing;  the  evil  is  the  dissonant,  the 
discordant,  the  dis-united,  the  heterogenous.  Now  music  itself  as 
music  has  properly  and  chiefly  to  do  with  the  consonant,  or  with  the 
dissonant  introduced  in  strict  subjection  to  the  consonant.  Just  as  soon 
as  the  dissonant  forms  any  considerable  proportion  of  the  musical  art- 
work, it  ceases  to  be  music  and  becomes  unmusical,  tiresome,  as  we  see 
in  long  passages  of  Wagner's  later  operas.  The  proper  sphere  of  music 
is  to  portray  the  progress  of  the  soul  from  grief  or  sadness  to  comfort, 
joy,  and  blessedness;  it  can  do  this  with  an  intelligibility  entirely  its 
own.  It  is,  so  to  say,  the  art  of  the  ideal  sphere  of  the  soul,  the  sphere 
into  which  sin  and  its  consequent  suffering  has  never  entered.  What- 
ever is  bright,  tender,  joyful,  resolved,  or  noble,  music  expresses  with 
peculiar  power.  But  evil  lies  outside  its  pure  province.  This,  then  is 
one  of  its  limitations. 

Music  suffers  a  second  limitation  in  its  entire  want  of  relation  to 
reason.  It  is  the  office  of  reason  to  receive  from  the  senses  and  the 
understanding  the  apparent  facts  of  the  outer  world,  to  compare  them, 
discern  their  essential  nature,  and  especially  the  deeper  laws  that  regu- 
late their  co-ordination  and  succession.  It  is  also  its  office  to  determine 
concerning  any  particular  piece  of  conduct  that  in  view  of  its  real 
nature  and  its  relation  to  other  parts  of  the  same  life,  it  does  or  does 
not  conduce  to  virtue;  that  such  and  such  things  are  related  to  the 
lower  parts  of  the  nature,  and  such  and  such  others  to  the  higher. 
Reason  is  the  faculty  of  man  by  means  of  which  he  generalizes  and  so 
arrives  at  a  distinct  conception  of  the  truth.  This  faculty  is,  therefore, 
the  ruling  intelligence  of  the  entire  man  with  power  to  co-ordinate  his 
movements  and  conduct  as  well  as  his  thought  so  as  to  bring  him  more 
rapidly  and  surely  along  the  road  to  goodness  and  God.  Now  music 
is  outside  of  reason.  Reason  begins  to  act  only  when  it  is  furnished 
with  distinctly  formulated  conceptions  or  thoughts,  and  these  are  not 
found  in  music.  Music  and  reason,  therefore,  have  nothing  in  common 
with  each  other,  but  belong  to  different  departments  of  the  soul.  Music 
goes  in  through  sense-perception  and  addresses  the  feelings  directly  as 
such.  Reason  operates  in  the  range  of  thought,  and  by  comparisons 
between  the  information  it  receives  from  sense-perception  and  its  own 
a  priori  conceptions  (time,  space,  and  causality)  is  able  to  arrive  at 
certain  forms  of  truth;  which  may  or  may  not  afterward  be  applied  to 
the  feelings  and  motives  of  conduct. 


POETRY.  91 

Thus  as  soon  as  art  contemplates  conflicts  of  soul  and  a  blessedness 
of  victory  residing  in  a  complete  union  of  all  the  powers  of  the  spirit, 
including  the  reason,  some  higher  and  more  universal  form  of  art  be- 
comes inevitable.  Such  a  form  we  have  in  poetry,  which  expresses  it- 
self not  in  shapes  and  forms  outwardly  visible  as  such,  but  through 
words,  which  reason  understands. 

Because  it  finds  its  expression  in  words  and  through  ideas  and 
conceptions  properly  belonging  to  reason,  poetry  comes  into  near  prox- 
imity to  prose,  to  ordinary  discourse.  Poetry  is  distinguishable  from 
prose  in  its  form  as  well  as  its  content. 

The  poetic  form  or  mode  of  expression  is  imaginative  and  pictur- 
esque. However  intensified  by  thought,  the  mode  of  expression  must 
be  such  as  to  create  in  the  inner  sense  pictures  of  the  outer  world,  or 
of  such  and  such  living  beings  in  such  and  such  conflicts  and  relations. 
Thus  poetry  in  its  picturesque  modes  of  embodying  thought  addresses 
the  inner  sense  exactly  as  an  external  reality  resembling  it  would  ad- 
dress the  same  feelings  going  in  through  the  ordinary  gates  of  sense- 
perception.  This  is  the  distinctive  trait  of  poetic  expression.  Verse 
is  an  added  grace,  which  is  useful  in  so  far  as  it  lends  smoothness  and 
musical  quality  to  the  discourse,  and  is  a  token  of  the  complete  control 
which  the  creative  artist  exercises  over  his  material.  Verse  also  serves 
a  purpose  in  idealizing  the  style  and  so  setting  it  apart  to  nobler  uses 
than  those  of  common  every-day  life. 

The  content  of  poetry  is  spiritual  existence  and  eternal  truth,  as 
illustrated  in  the  lives  and  conduct  of  men.  "  The  entire  circle  of  the 
outer  world  enters  poetry  only  in  so  far  as  the  spirit  finds  its  activity  in 
ruling  over  the  material  ;  as  the  environment  of  man,  also,  his  outer 
world,  which  has  its  essential  value  only  in  reference  to  the  inner  of 
consciousness,  but  dares  not  make  claim  to  the  honor  of  being  itself  the 
exclusive  subject  of  poetry.  Then  the  word,  this  most  plastic  material, 
which  belongs  immediately  to  the  spirit,  and  is  the  most  capable  of  all 
of  seizing  the  interests  and  movements  of  things  in  their  inner  life, 
must  here  be  applied  to  the  highest  meaning  of  which  it  is  capable. 

"  Thus  it  becomes  the  chief  task  of  poetry  to  bring  to  consciousness 
the  power  of  spiritual  life,  and  especially  whatever  swells  and  sinks  in 
human  passion  and  feeling,  or  passes  quietly  before  the  attention;  the 
all-embracing  kingdom  of  human  idea,  activity,  work,  fate,  the  machin- 
ery of  this  world  and  the  divine  government.  So  has  it  been  and  still 
is  the  most  general  and  broadest  teacher  of  human  kind.  Its  teaching 
and  learning  are  knowledge  and  experience  of  this  which  is.  Star, 
beast,  and  plant  neither  know  nor  experience  their  law;  but  man  exists 


92  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

in  the  suitable  law  of  his  actual  life  only  when  he  knows  what  he  him- 
self is  and  what  is  about  him;  he  must  know  the  power  which  drives 
and  manages  him; — and  such  a  knowledge  it  is  which  Poetry  gives  in 
its  first  substantial  form."  (Hegel.) 

The  superior  power  of  poetry  lies  equally  in  its  mode  of  expression 
and  in  its  content.  In  the  former  because  all  men  comprehend  and  are 
moved  by  picture-building  discourse.  This  mode  of  expression  also 
lends  itself  most  easily  to  the  artist's  way  of  conceiving  truth,  which 
is  by  direct  intuition  and  not  by  reason.  Hence  in  the  earliest  time  the 
deepest  eternal  truths  were  perceived,  not  clearly,  but  as  if  through  a 
veil;  in  epic,  ode,  psalm,  prophecy,  and  drama  they  found  clearer  and 
clearer  expression.  And  thus  long  before  the  philosopher  had  dis- 
covered that  man  had  a  soul,  Poets  and  seers  had  shown  to  the  spirit  of 
man  the  love  and  providence  of  his  God. 

The  principal  kinds  of  poetry  are  three:  The  Epic,  which  treats 
of  the  deeds  of  heroes,  and  the  fortunes  of  a  people;  the  Lyric,  in  which 
the  human  heart  sings  its  own  sorrow,  hope,  joy,  or  love;  and  the 
Drama,  in  which  men  live  and  act  before  us,  and  so  by  collisions  and 
conflicts  the  lesson  of  motive  and  consequence  is  read. 

In  its  very  nature,  therefore,  the  art  of  Poetry  is  universal.  It 
belongs  to  every  age,  and  to  every  grade  of  intelligence.  And  in  all 
it  elevates,  refines,  and  educates. 

Yet  in  its  very  definiteness  and  the  completeness  with  which  the 
artist  may  work  out  his  full  meaning  in  it,  it  leaves  less  room  for  the 
imagination  of  the  reader.  And  in  this  respect  Music  possesses  a  certain 
advantage  over  it.  We  have  thus  completed  the  circle  of  the  arts,  and 
have  seen  in  all,  and  more  and  more  plainly  as  we  have  advanced, 
that  the  ideal  of  them  all  is  the  expression  of  the  True  in  sense-forms 
— in  other  words,  the  expression  of  the  beautiful. 

Art  is  a  sort  of  Jacob's  ladder  on  which  from  the  days  of  Adam 
until  now  the  angels  of  God  have  descended  to  man,  and  up  which  man 
has  gone  to  seek  his  God. 


PAET   FIFTH. 

STUDIES  IN  CLASSICAL  MUSIC. 


LESSON    TWENTY-SIXTH. 

THE  PLAYFUL  MOMENT  IN  THE  CLASSIC. 

We  find  the  starting  point  of  the  playful  in  the  classic  in  such 
productions  of  Bach,  as  the  little  fugue  in  C  minor,  No.  2  in  the 
"  Clavier."  (Plays.)  Here  the  playful  spirit  is  unmistakable.  It  is 
shown  in  the  rhythm,  the  quick  movement,  and  especially  in  the  way 
in  which  one  part  catches  up  another.  These,  again,  are  to  be  referred 
to  the  Gigue  of  Bach,  Mozart  and  other  composers  of  that  day,  which 
were  an  idealized  form  of  an  old  Italian  dance  in  triplet  rhythm. 

Observe  now  the  following:  (Plays  the  Scherzo  from  the  Beetho- 
ven Sonata  in  C,  op.  2.)  This  charming  little  piece  deserves  to  be 
heard  twice.  It  is  one  of  the  most  complete  little  bits  of  imitative 
writing  to  be  found  in  Beethoven.  This  is  in  thematic  style. 

Observe  now  this:  (Plays  the  Allegro  in  E  flat,  £  time,  third 
movement  of  the  Sonata  in  E  flat,  op.  7.)  This  is  the  lyric  style  at  first, 
but  in  the  second  period  falls  into  the  imitative  forms  for  a  while.  The 
charming  feature  in  this  work  is  its  delicacy.  Observe  that  the  "trio" 
refrains  from  definitely  enunciated  melody,  although  a  melody  is  sug- 
gested by  the  progression  of  its  harmonies. 

Again,  observe  this:  (Plays  the  Menuetto  from  Sonata  in  D, 
op.  10.)  In  point  of  structure,  this  little  piece  very  much  resembles 
the  Allegro  last  played.  The  impressive  feature  in  it  as  one  knows  it 
better,  is  the  peculiarly  graceful  turn  of  the  melody,  in  which  it  is  not 
surpassed  by  any  of  the  Beethoven  short  movements. 

Observe  again  this,  which  is  in  the  form  of  a  Rondo:  (Plays  Finale 
of  Sonata  in  G,  op.  14.)  Here  we  have  a  similar  spirit,  and  the  agree- 
able contrast  of  the  singing  melody  in  C  which  begins  in  the  seventy- 
third  measure. 

93 


94  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

Still  more  unmistakable  in  its  form,  and  very  beautiful  in  its  way, 
is  the  Scherzo  from  the  "  Pastoral "  sonata  of  Beethoven,  op.  28.  This 
movement  goes  very  fast.  It  is  relieved  by  a  trio  which  contains  a 
lovely  melodic  phrase,  repeated  several  times  with  different  harmonies. 
(Plays.) 

Of  the  same  general  character  are  the  other  playful  movements  in 
the  Beethoven  Sonatas.  Those  in  the  sonatas  for  piano  and  violin,  as 
well  as  the  trios  for  violin,  'cello  and  piano,  afford  yet  more  decided 
humoristic  traits.  They  are  full  of  quirks  and  catches  of  time,  caprices 
of  motives  —  in  short,  they  are  frolicsome. 

Movements  of  this  kind  were  introduced  into  the  sonata  by  Bee- 
thoven, as  a  compensation  for  the  greater  length  and  seriousness  he 
imparted  to  the  other  movements  as  compared  with  those  of  Haydn 
and  Mozart.  Independent  movements  of  this  kind  are,  however,  nu- 
merous in  the  Bach,  Haydn  and  Mozart  works.  See,  e.  g.,  the  Mozart 
"  Pieces,"  (Peters'  ed.)  and  similar  collections  of  other  composers. 
All  of  these  movements  are  idealized  dance-forms. 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  Bach  Invention  in  C,  No.  1. 

2.  Scherzo  from  Beethoven  Sonata  in  C,  op.  2. 

3.  Allegro  (3d  mov't)  of  Sonata  in  E  flat,  op.  7,  Beethoven. 

4.  Menuetto  from  Sonata  in  D,  op.  10,  Beethoven. 

5.  Finale  of  Sonata  in  G,  op.  14,  Beethoven. 

6.  Scherzo  from  Pastoral  Sonata,  Beethoven. 


LESSON     TWENTY-SEVENTH. 

THE  TENDER  AND  SOULFUL  IN  THE  CLASSIC. 

In  order  rightly  to  comprehend  the  works  of  the  greatest  composers 
we  need  to  give  especial  attention  to  their  deepest  and  tenderest 
moments.  These,  of  course,  are  to  be  found  in  the  slow  movements  of 
the  sonatas  and  symphonies.  These  movements  are  founded  upon  the 
people's  song;  they  are  in  lyric  forms,  in  slow  and  sustained  melodies, 
which  in  the  longer  movements  are  contrasted  with  second  and  third 
subjects  of  a  different  character,  as  we  already  saw  in  our  studies  in 
form. 

The  general  type  of  these  movements  is  the  Cantabile.     They  are 


THE  TENDER  AND  SOULFUL  IN  THE  CLASSIC.  95 

not  to  be  found  in  Bach,  nor  yet  in  Handel.  Haydn  gives  us  the  form 
but  not  the  deep  spirit  we  now  look  for  in  a  movement  of  this  kind. 
A  pleasing  example  is  found  in  one  of  his  symphonies.  (Plays  Largo 
Cantabile  from  Haydn's  symphony  in  D,  No.  5  in  Wittman's  arrange- 
ments for  piano  solo,  Ed.  Peters,  No.  197.)  The  second  subject  is  in 
the  principal  key  of  the  movement,  G,  beginning  in  the  thirty- 
first  measure. 

The  slow  movements  in  the  pianoforte  works  are  not  so  serious  or 
well-sustained,  because  the  pianoforte  of  that  day  had  not  the  "singing 
tone"  necessary  for  properly  rendering  movements  of  this  kind.  For 
the  same  reason  such  movements  can  not  be  met  with  in  the  Mozart 
pianoforte  sonatas.  In  these  the  ideas  lack  breadth  and  depth.  In 
Mozart's  string  quartettes  and  symphonies,  however,  we  find  move- 
ments of  this  kind  beautifully  sustained,  but  not  characterized  by  the 
depth  we  find  in  Beethoven.  Such  a  movement  is  the  Andante  from 
the  5th  Quintette.  (Plays.)  Another  example  is  the  Larghetto  in  D 
from  the  Clarinet  concerts.  (  "  Mozart  Album,"  Ed.  Peters,  No.  1823, 
p.  36.) 

Beethoven,  however,  is  the  great  master  of  this  type  of  composi- 
tion. We  find  traces  of  it  even  in  his  earliest  works,  as  in  the 
Adagio  of  the  first  sonata,  op.  2  in  F  minor.  This  movement  was 
originally  written  by  him  when  he  was  fifteen  years  old;  it  formed  part 
of  the  first  quartette  for  piano,  violin,  viola  and  'cello.  The  quartettes 
were  not  published  until  after  his  death.  The  principal  subject  is  ex- 
tremely tender  and  fine.  (Plays  the  entire  movement.) 

The  Largo  appassionato,  of  the  second  sonata,  op.  2  in  A,  is  a  still 
more  notable  example.  The  principal  idea  of  this  movement  is  ex- 
tremely large,  and  full  of  feeling.  The  second  idea,  beginning  with 
the  last  three  notes  of  the  eighth  measure,  is  rather  insignificant,  and 
indeed  is  used  merely  as  an  interlude.  The  second  subject,  proper, 
begins  with  the  last  three  notes  of  the  nineteenth  measure.  The  depth 
and  seriousness  of  this  movement  are  due  to  its  slow  pace,  the  long 
tones  in  the  melody,  and  the  low  staccato  notes  in  the  bass,  which  give 
an  impression  of  repressed  passion. 

The  beautiful  Adagio  grazioso  of  the  sonata  in  G,  op.  31,  No.  1,  is 
perhaps  a  better  example  of  a  purely  classical  movement  of  this  kind, 
since  it  has  all  the  classic  peculiarities  in  a  high  degree;  such  as  repose, 
symmetry,  moderation,  purity,  and  an  exquisite  grace  such  as  one  may 
search  through  many  volumes  elsewhere  without  finding.  (Plays.) 
This  piece,  as  indeed  the  whole  sonata,  seems  a  purely  classical  work. 
It  means  absolutely  nothing  more  than  it  says.  It  is  a  beautiful  ex- 


96  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC 

ample  of  Beethoven's  most  cheerful  work  when  he  was  at  the  very 
prime  of  his  health  and  powers.  Many  other  works  of  his  mean  more 
than  they  say  and  so  belong  to  the  romantic.  This  one  is  the  full 
expression  of  its  own  idea,  and  for  that  very  reason  requires  a  certain 
maturity  and  refinement  of  taste  to  properly  appreciate  it. 

A  short  movement  in  dance  form,  but  in  very  much  the  same 
serious  vein,  is  found  in  the  Menuetto  in  E  flat,  out  of  the  third  sonata 
of  this  opus  31.  (Plays.) 

A  very  long  but  beautiful  movement  in  similar  spirit  is  furnished 
by  the  second  part  of  the  sonata  in  E,  op.  90.  This  is  one  of  the  most 
refined  and  satisfactory  cantabile  pieces  of  Beethoven.  It  has  in  it  an 
exquisite  air  of  tenderness  and  nobility,  like  that  of  a  refined  and  noble 
woman.  (Plays.) 

Yet  another  movement  of  the  same  kind  is  found  in  the  Tempo  di 
Menuetto  of  the  sonata  in  G,  op.  30,  for  piano  and  violin,  one  of  the 
three  great  ones  dedicated  to  the  Emperor  Alexander  II.  (Let  this  be 
heard  if  convenient.)  Nor  ought  we  to  overlook  the  exquisite  Andante 
and  variations  of  the  Sonata  appassionato,,  op.  57,  which  are  also 
characterized  by  the  same  repose  and  elevated  beauty.  (Plays.) 

In  all  these  movements  the  predominant  impressions  are  of  repose, 
and  depth  of  soul.  As  Hegel  says  of  Greek  sculpture,  "this  is  the  un- 
alterable permanence  of  the  immortal  gods." 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  Largo  Cantabile  from  Haydn's  5th  Symphony,  in  D,  No.  5,  in  Wittmann's  arr. 

for  piano  solo,  Ed.  Peters,  No.  197. 

2.  Andante  from  Quintette,  Mozart. 

3.  Adagio  from  Sonata  in  F,  op.  2,  No.  1,  Beethoven. 

4.  Largo  App  issionata  from  S  mata  in  A,  op.  2,  No.  2,  Beethoven. 

5.  Adagio  Grazioso  from  S  mata  in  G,  op.  31,  No.  1,  Beethoven. 

6.  Menuetto  from  Sonata  in  C  minor,  op.  31,  No.  3,  Beethoven. 

7.  Tempo  di  Menuetto  from  Sonata  in  G,  op  39,  Beethoven. 

8.  Andante  and  Variations  from  Sonata,  op.  57,  Beethoven. 

9.  Larghetto  in  D,  from  Clarinet  Concerto,  Mozart  (p.  36  in  "Mozart  Album," 

No.  1823  Peterg^ 


I 
EXPRESSIONS  OP  THE  RONDO.  97 


LESSON    TWENTY-EIGHTH. 

THE    CONTENTED,    THE    JOVIAL,   THE    COMFORTABLE,    AS    EX- 
PRESSED IN  THE  RONDO. 

As  to  its  form  the  rondo  consists  of  a  principal  subject  three  or 
four  times  repeated,  with  second  and  third  subjects  intervening  be- 
tween these  repetitions.  As  already  appeared  in  the  second  part  of 
this  work,  the  rondo  differs  from  the  sonata-piece  in  having  less  thematic 
work,  and  less  seriousness.  The  rondo  is  derived  from  the  people's 
song,  and  represents  a  spirit  of  cheerfulness,  of  burgher-like  satisfac- 
tion; a  comfortable  contentment  in  life  which  is  too  lively  for  repose, 
and  too  cheerful  for  work  or  striving.  Thus,  e.  </.,  observe  the  follow- 
ing: (Plays  Rondo  in  E  flat  from  Beethoven's  op.  7.) 

In  the  very  first  idea  we  have  this  feeling  of  rather  satisfied  com- 
fort, and  the  secondary  matter  only  serves  to  bring  this  spirit  out 
more  plainly. 

For  another  example  take  the  rondo  out  of  the  little  sonata  in  G, 
op.  14,  No.  2.  This  is  still  more  playful.  (Plays.) 

Even  in  the  serious  and  deeply  moved  sonatas,  the  rondo  is  in  a 
spirit  which  indicates  that  conflict  has  had  its  victory  in  happiness  or 
something  approaching  it.  (Plays  rondo  of  sonata  pathetique.) 

One  of  the  most  interesting  of  the  Beethoven  rondos  is  the  ex- 
tremely bright  and  clever  Rondo  Capriccioso,  op.  129,  one  of  his  very 
latest  compositions.  The  theme  of  this  might  have  been  written  by 
Haydn,  it  is  so  clear  and  sunny,  but  Haydn  could  never  have  indulged 
himself  in  the  endless  caprices  of  the  elaboration.  (Plays  Rondo 
Capriccioso  of  Beethoven.) 

If  further  examples  are  desired,  let  them  be  found  in  the  two 
rondos  of  Beethoven,  op.  51  in  C  and  G,  and  Mendelssohn's  well-known 
Rondo  Capriccioso. 

In  several  of  the  Beethoven  sonatas  we  find  in  place  of  the  rondo 
a  movement  called  "  Finale,"  which  is  in  the  same  form  as  the  sonata- 
piece  except  that  a  third  subject  (or  middle-piece)  takes  the  place  of 
the  Elaboration.  An  example  of  this  is  found  in  the  first  sonata  in  F, 
op.  2.  In  other  instances  the  Finale  is  a  sonata-piece,  but  conceived  in 
7 


98  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

a  lighter  spirit.     Such  are  found  in  the  Sonata  op.  10  in  C  minor,  op. 
31  No.  2  in  D  minor,  op.  31  No.  3  in  E  flat,  etc. 

LIST  OP  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  Rondo  of  Sonata  in  Eft,  op.  7,  Beethoven. 

2.  Rondo  of  Sonata  in  G,  op.  14,  No.  2,  Beethoven, 

3.  Rondo  of  Sonata  Pathetique,  op.  13,  Beethoven., 

4.  Rondo  Capriccioso,  op.  129,  Beethoven. 

5.  Two  Rondos,  op.  51,  Beethoven. 

6.  Rondo  Capriccioso,  Mendelssohn. 


LESSON    TWENTY-NINTH. 

THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SONATA. 

The  form  of  the  sonata-piece  and  the  composition  to  which  it  has 
given  its  name  we  have  already  considered  in  Lessons  XV.  and  XVI. 
The  emotional  characteristics  of  its  component  parts  have  now  been 
considered  in  detail.  We  are  ready,  therefore,  to  enter  upon  the  study 
of  the  work  as  a  whole.  This  cannot  be  done  profitably  otherwise  than 
by  repeatedly  hearing  an  entire  sonata  until  one  knows  it  in  its  sepa- 
rate movements  and  parts,  and  again  in  the  unity  of  the  complete  work, 
so  that  one  thinks  of  the  different  movements  as  chapters  in  the  same 
life  -  history,  or  as  successive  and  logically  -  related  states  of  the  same 
person.  This  unity  of  the  sonata  as  a  whole  is  one  of  the  peculiar  ex- 
cellencies of  Beethoven's  works.  We  do  not  find  the  same  comprehen- 
sive grasp  on  the  part  of  any  other  composer  in  this  form  of  composi- 
tion. 

The  first  movement  represents  the  earnest  and  intellectually  de- 
termined part  of  the  work.  The  second,  the  reposeful  and  deep  mo- 
ments. The  third,  the  out-come  into  healthful,  every-day  activity.  If 
there  are  four  movements,  a  playful  moment  intervenes  between  the 
second  and  third  or  the  third  and  fourth,  as  a  sort  of  interlude.  The 
first  movement,  therefore,  strikes  the  key-note  of  the  whole  work.  If 
its  subjects  are  trivial  and  scantily  handled,  no  great  depth  of  senti- 
ment in  the  following  part,  the  slow  movement,  can  reasonably  be  ex- 
pected. We  already  know  that  the  different  movements  in  the  same 
sonata  have  no  motives  in  common;  they  are  not  even  in  the  same  key. 
They  are  not  composed  at  the  same  time.  Generally  we  may  conceive 


THE   CYCLE  OF   THE  SONATA.  99 

of  a  sonata-piece  as  having  first  occurred  to  the  composer  merely  as  a 
single  motive,  with  certain  dimly-perceived  possibilities  of  elaboration. 
Possibly  a  second  motive,  that  of  the  lyric  digression,  was  thought  of  at 
the  same  time.  Perhaps  the  entire  Principal  was  written  out  immedi- 
ately; by  chance  the  Second  also,  though  this  is  not  common.  The  inter- 
vening passage  work  and  the  elaboration  may  have  occupied  the  leisure 
moments  of  several  days.  Thus  after  considerable  delay  the  composer 
is  in  possession  of  the  entire  first  movement.  It  may  be  a  week  later 
before  he  composes  the  slow  movement,  and  a  month  before  the  sonata 
is  finished.  Yet  this  does  not  go  to  deny  the  unity  of  the  sonata  as  a 
whole.  For  do  not  novelists  write  the  most  absorbing  tales  in  pre- 
cisely similar  piecemeal  way?  These  delays  represent  the  time  of  medi- 
tation, during  which  the  author  decides  what  the  natural  out-come  of 
his  characters  shall  be,  taking  into  account  all  the  circumstances  of 
their  history  as  represented. 

In  some  cases  the  motives  of  a  work  were  thought  of  several  years 
before  they  were  finally  worked  up.  In  Beethoven's  "  note-books" 
(rude  memorandum  books  of  music  paper,  on  which  he  wrote  down  at 
the  moment  any  good  idea  that  struck  him)  we  find  the  motives  of 
his  symphonies  sometimes  for  several  years  before  the  symphony  was 
composed.  Some  of  these  motives  undergo  remarkable  changes  before 
they  come  into  a  form  satisfactory  to  the  great  master.  When  the 
sonata  is  done  it  is  not  always  satisfactory.  Thus,  the  well-known 
"Andante  Favoris  in  F  "  of  Beethoven  was  written  to  go  in  the  Wald- 
stein  sonata  in  C,  op.  53.  But  on  trial  it  did  not  suit  him;  perhaps 
because  of  its  length.  So  it  was  taken  out  and  published  separately, 
and  the  short  "  Introduction"  which  now  stands  there,  put  in  its  place. 
Yet  it  would  be  wrong  to  conclude  from  this  that  the  association  of 
pieces  in  the  sonata  was  a  matter  of  experiment,  instead  of  insight  and 
logical  development.  It  is  rather  as  if  an  author  had  concluded  on  re- 
flection that  in  a  certain  chapter  he  had  allowed  an  unsuitable  weight 
to  certain  tendencies  in  some  one  of  his  principal  characters. 

A  few  general  traits  of  these  sonatas  we  may  easily  observe.  Thus, 
if  the  first  movement  is  vigorous  and  strongly  marked,  the  ensuing 
movements  partake  of  the  same  decision.  To  take  a  very  strong  ex- 
ample, consider  Sonata  Pathetique.  Here  the  Introduction  (Grave) 
opens  very  broadly  and  passionately.  (Plays.)  Then  follows  an  equally 
forcible  Allegro  which  goes  at  an  extremely  rapid  pace,  and  is  strongly 
accented  and  marked  by  wide  transitions  of  power.  (Plays.)  The 
Elaboration  in  this  is  equally  forcible,  and  includes  motives  from  the 
Introduction  as  well  as  from  the  Allegro  proper.  (Plays.)  Then  after 


100  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND   MUSIC. 

the  completion  of  this  movement,  there  follows  an  Adagio  of  the  most 
deep  and  spiritual  expression.  (Plays.)  On  this  follows  a  Rondo, 
which  manifests  the  habitual  carelessness  of  the  rondo,  as  through  a 
veil  of  tears.  The  third  subject  in  it  is  perfectly  dry  and  unemotional, 
only  to  give  place  for  an  unusual  and  unprecedented  recapitulation  of 
the  principal  subject  of  the  rondo.  It  may  be  confessed  that  this  ron- 
do, fine  as  it  is,  sometimes  seems  inadequate  to  the  sonata  it  concludes; 
and  yet  Beethoven  put  it  there,  and  the  world  generally  accepts  this  as 
one  of  his  most  satisfactory. 

Again  in  the  sonata  in  F,  op.  2  No.  1,  we  have  an  extremely  for- 
tunate example  of  association.  The  Allegro  is  founded  on  one  of 
Friedmann  Bach's.  It  has  no  properly  developed  lyric  digression.  The 
Adagio  is  one  of  the  loveliest,  and  as  we  know,  taken  out  of  a  youthful 
work.  The  Menuet  is  pretty,  and  the  Finale  charming  and  impetuous, 
and  saved  from  a  flavor  of  the  morbid  only  by  the  exquisite  melody  in 
A  flat  (third  subject). 

It  is  unnecessary  to  multiply  examples.  To  properly  comprehend 
the  sonata  in  all  its  possibilities  is  to  comprehend  everything  in  instru- 
mental music.  All  that  can  here  be  done  to  assist  the  student  is  to 
suggest  the  unity  of  the  sonata  as  a  whole.  More  must  come  by  study 
and  experience.  It  will  be  found  a  profitable  experience  in  every  way 
to  resume  this  study  from  time  to  time,  using  the  four-hand  arrange- 
ments of  the  symphonies  of  Haydn,  Mozart  and  Beethoven.  Some 
one  work  is  to  be  taken  and  each  separate  movement  studied  until  it 
becomes  familiar;  afterwards  the  entire  symphony,  and  this,  also,  sev- 
eral times  in  succession.  It  is  an  excellent  thing  in  a  boarding  school, 
for  example,  when  an  eight-hand  arrangement  of  one  of  these  works  is 
undertaken;  we  have  there  immediately  four  pupils  practically  inter- 
ested in  one  work.  The  length  of  time  necessary  to  bring  such  a  per- 
formance to  a  satisfactory  state,  suffices  to  thoroughly  familiarize  the 
entire  school  with  the  motives  and  leading  features  of  the  work.  In  this 
way  very  much  genuine  musical  cultivation  can  be  had  in  places  where 
orchestral  music  is  never  heard.  For  such  a  purpose  a  list  is  added, 
below. 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  Sonata  Pathetique,  op.  13,  Beethoven. 

2.  Sonata  in  F  minor,  op.  2,  Beethoven. 

3.  Four-hand  arrangement  of  Beethoven's  Septette,  op.  20. 

4.  Beethoven's  2d,  5th  and  7th  Symphonies,  for  four  hands.    (Peters'  ed.) 

5.  Beethoven  Sonatas  for  Piano  and  Violin,  arranged  for  four  hands.     In  partic- 

ular Nos.  5  in  F,  7  in  C  minor,  and  8  in  G. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  IN  CLASSIC  MUSIC.  101 


LESSON  THIRTIETH. 

THE    BEAUTIFUL    IN    CLASSIC    MUSIC,    AND    THE    TRANSITION 
TOWARD  THE  ROMANTIC. 

As  compared  with  sensational  modern  works,  classical  music 
seems  cold,  impassive.  Much  of  this  impression  depends  on  one's  mu- 
sical habits  of  thought.  A  student  who  spends  a  large  part  of  his 
practice  on  finger  exercises  and  studies,  will  find  almost  any  classical 
sonata  musical  and  grateful  to  him;  but  one  who  idles  away  his  pre- 
scribed "hours"  on  pleasing  and  capriciously  chosen  pieces,  and  never 
practices  exercises  or  studies,  will  find  a  sonata  tiresome — at  least, 
until  it  is  heard  often  enough  for  its  real  character  to  impress  itself 
upon  an  inattentive  player.  Still  it  is  by  no  means  necessary  for  a 
student  to  avoid  modern  works  in  order  to  enjoy  a  sonata.  Tt  will  be 
enough  if  he  is  willing  to  decide  for  himself  that  he  prefers  music  as 
such,  to  the  strained  and  forced  or  empty  in  expression. 

When  we  take  up  a  piece  of  Bach's,  as,  for  example,  the  first 
movement  of  the  Italian  Concerto,  it  at  first  seems  tame.  When  heard 
many  times,  however,  a  certain  fluency  and  genuine  melodiousness  ap- 
pear in  it,  which  betray  the  touch  of  genius.  (Plays.)  The  piece  seems 
to  our  ears  somewhat  too  long.  This  impression  is  not  due  to  its  ab- 
solute length,  but  to  its  want  of  contrast.  If  we  take  up  a  larger 
piece  of  Bach's,  such  as  the  Passacaglia  in  C  min.  (organ  works  ar- 
ranged for  four  hands),  we  find  in  it  a  certain  monotony,  yet  a  decided 
progress  toward  a  climax.  The  piece  is  a  set  of  variations  on  a 
"ground  bass,"  or  cantus  fermus  which  goes  through  all  the  variations 
unchanged.  It  ends  with  a  splendid  fugue.  When  we  compare  these 
variations  with  each  other  we  observe  that  each  is  more  complex  than 
the  preceding.  (Plays  theme  and  variations,  remarking  the  com- 
mencement of  each.  Afterwards  it  would  be  well  to  examine  the  va- 
riations in  detail,  pointing  out  the  motives  of  each.  Then  play  the 
whole  again.)  In  all  this  we  have  no  new  disposition  or  emotional 
contrasts  represented,  but  only  an  unfolding  of  what  was  already  pos- 
sible in  the  theme.  As  the  rose  in  full  bloom  displays  no  petals  which 
were  not  enrolled  in  the  bud,  so  these  latest  and  most  luxuriant  bios- 


102  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

soms  give  us  nothing  that  was  not  already  implied  in  the  theme. 
Nevertheless  it  was  only  Aaron's  rod  that  budded,  and  it  is  only  a 
theme  of  such  a  man  as  Bach  that  blossoms  out  like  this. 

Here  we  come  upon  one  of  the  characteristic  moments  of  classical 
music.  It  is  that  in  which  music  itself  is  trying  its  wings  for  itself. 
Nothing  here  seeks  expression  save  only  the  musical  ideas  themselves, 
hay,  the  single  idea  of  the  theme,  and  its  logical  implications. 
In  order  to  appreciate  it,  therefore,  one  needs  to  hear  it  many  times, 
and  especially  to  have  within  himself  a  really  musical  nature.  All  the 
greatest  masters  since  Bach  have  admired,  wondered  at,  and  enjoyed 
these  works  of  his,  the  greatness  of  which  lies  in  the  lengths  they  go 
as  music,  and  their  entire  freedom  from  any  thing  like  emotional  effort. 
They  are  not  without  emotional  expression;  they  could  not  be,  with  a 
rhythmic  pulsation  so  thoroughly  established  and  so  long  maintained, 
for  the  heart  falls  in  with  it  and  retards  or  accelerates  in  sympathy. 
Add  to  this  the  constantly  augmenting  energy  of  the  motivization,  and 
we  have  a  certain  amount  of  emotional  expression  in  spite  of  the  mo- 
notony of  the  harmonic  foundation.  Yet  with  all  its  energy  and 
strength,  and  its  climax,  it  remains  in  some  way  cold.  It  is  like  a  won- 
derful statue  in  music. 

Let  us  examine  it  in  the  light  of  our  studies  in  the  beautiful. 
Beginning  on  the  lowest  plane,  we  ask  what  has  it  for  the  pleasure  of 
hearing?  In  answer  it  must  be  at  once  admitted  that  merely  sensuous 
charm  is  not  here  sought.  It  sounds  well;  all  its  dissonances  are  prop- 
erly prepared  and  resolved,  and  the  finest  of  all  harmonic  instincts  pre- 
sided over  the  arrangement  of  its  chord-sequences.  Here,  therefore, 
it  yields  only  negative  results.  We  ask  again,  what  has  it  for  satis- 
faction in  contemplation?  And  in  this  direction  it  has  much  to  say 
for  itself.  Each  period  is  symmetrical  and  well  concluded.  The 
strictest  unity  prevails  throughout.  The  work  as  a  whole  does  not 
manifest  symmetry,  since  it  does  not  consist  of  two,  three,  or  any  num- 
ber of  sections  or  members  standing  over  against  each  other.  This 
element  of  form  is  wanting.  The  Passacaglia  is  merely  the  life-histo- 
ry of  a  single  idea  from  its  first  simple  form  through  its  development 
to  its  return  again  into  repose,  the  Nirvana  of  music.  Yet  this  de- 
velopment itself  is  traced  with  such  skill,  each  step  follows  so  natural- 
ly on  the  preceding  and  the  whole  is  managed  without  any  overdoing 
or  forceful  effort,  that  in  the  unity  and  movement  of  the  work  we  ha^e 
one  of  the  earliest  forms  in  which  the  beautiful,  as  such,  found  expres- 
sion in  music.  Nor  is  the  work  without  a  decided  outlook  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  higher  perception  and  spiritual  realization  of  beauty. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  IN  CLASSIC  MUSIC.  103 

Perhaps  this  is  shown  in  the  persistence  of  the  theme;  and  its  final 
conflict  and  victory  in  the  fugue.  All  that  goes  before  is  to  interest 
us  in  the  theme.  "We  must  not  forget  that  in  Bach's  day,  lovers  of 
music  generally  were  familiar  with  fugal  phraseology  and  followed  with 
readiness  and  interest  all  the  vicissitudes  of  the  subject  as  only  musi- 
cians now  do,  so  that  intricacies  of  treatment  which  sound  to  us 
somewhat  far-fetched  and  difficult,  sounded  to  them  natural  and  right. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  extreme  modulations  common  in  modern 
works,  and  the  brilliancy  and  comparative  looseness  of  treatment  in 
modern  pieces,  would  have  occasioned  them  a  genuine  shock  of  sur- 
prise and  disapproval. 

Again,  let  us  observe  the  Andante  from  Mozart's  fifth  quintette 
for  strings  (No.  3  on  the  list  below).  It  is  in  the  form  of  a  rondo. 
The  principal  subject  is  this.  (Plays  first  subject,  16  measures.)  The 
second  subject  is  in  E  flat.  (Plays.) 

Now  when  we  attentively  consider  the  impression  this  work 
makes  upon  us,  we  immediately  perceive  that  it  manifests  the  ele- 
ments of  formal  beauty  in  a  much  more  complete  degree  than  the 
Bach  works  just  mentioned.  Considered  merely  as  music  it  is  less  se- 
rious than  the  Bach  pieces.  For  this  reason  it  bestows  less  attention 
upon  developing  a  single  subject.  The  world  goes  more  easily  here  than 
there.  Life  has  certain  ameliorations.  The  episode  comes  not  in  the 
form  of  additional  trouble  for  the  theme,  but  in  a  complete  digression 
from  it,  like  a  visit  to  a  new  world.  (Plays  entire  movement  again.) 
Such  an  introduction  of  a  complete  digression  within  a  movement 
is  very  rare  in  Bach.  Mozart's  appreciation  of  its  restfulness  marks 
his  deeper  comprehension  of  the  emotional  nature  of  music.  Examined 
with  reference  to  its  degree  of  beauty  this  piece  does  not  manifest  im- 
portant difference  from  that  of  Bach.  Thus  in  the  merely  well-sound- 
ing the  Mozart  Andante  is  stronger.  It  has  more  symmetry  and 
sweetness;  a  more  evident  harmony  and  proportion  of  parts;  the  com- 
plete digression  into  another  key  relieves  the  ear.  Still  this  last  com- 
parison is  hardly  fair,  for  the  Passacaglia  has  its  modulatory  structure 
determined  by  its  ground  bass.  On  the  other  hand  the  Bach  piece  is 
very  much  more  earnest  and  vigorous.  The  intellectual  element  pre- 
ponderates in  it.  As  already  pointed  out,  it  is  a  monologue,  a  discus- 
sion of  a  single  theme  carried  out  thoroughly  in  all  its  parts,  with  no 
regard  for  the  hearer.  The  Mozart  Andante,  on  the  contrary,  is  dis- 
tinctly lyric.  It  is  a  song.  And  so  in  all  its  parts  it  is  simpler,  more 
easily  comprehended,  more  pleasing.  Yet  both  pieces  are 'so  masterly 
in  their  way  that  neither  can  be  accredited  with  a  general  superiority 


104  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND   MUSIC. 

over  the  other.  The  latter  marks  a  progress  in  the  direction  of  the 
secular,  and  the  softer  and  less  divine  sides  of  beauty. 

Or  take,  again,  the  Beethoven  "Moonlight"  sonata.  Its  first 
movement  is  also  a  monody  on  a  single  theme.  (Plays  the  first  strain 
of  melody  of  Adagio  in  sonata.)  It  is  of  the  most  plaintive  character. 
The  same  spirit  pervades  the  entire  movement.  (Plays  the  entire 
movement.)  This  sonata  has  always  been  regarded  as  a  cry  of  the 
heart.  The  beautiful  as  such,  the  symmetrical,  reposeful,  the  well-pro- 
portioned and  sweet,  are  not  here  the  objects  of  expression.  But  instead 
of  them  we  have  the  very  heart  of  the  composer;  its  sorrow,  its  grief, 
its  desire.  (Plays  again.) 

This  wonderfully  sad  movement  is  followed  by  a  Scherzo  which  to 
some  extent  relieves  the  tension.  The  afflicted  mourner  takes  up  again 
the  sympathies  and  associations  of  life;  not  with  undisciplined  buoyancy, 
but  with  a  sad  and  tender  resignation.  Is  this  all  fancy?  (Plays  Al- 
legretto.) On  this,  again,  follows  the  Finale,  which  is  in  fact  a  regu- 
larly constructed  sonata-piece  with  all  its. appurtenances.  In  this  we 
have  the  soul  in  its  hours  of  solitude,  when,  no  longer  distracted  by  the 
world  about  it,  all  the  waves  of  its  grief  come  over  it.  At  times  hope 
springs  up,  but  only  to  be  immediately  overwhelmed.  (Plays  the  en- 
tire Finale.) 

Thus  in  the  whole  sonata  as  well  as  the  movements  separately,  we 
have  a  life  history,  not  of  a  single  musical  theme  and  its  implications 
(as  in  the  Passacaglia),  but  a  story  of  the  human  heart,  a  voice  from 
the  soul.  However  fine  we  may  find  this  sonata  in  point  of  construc- 
tion, we  do  not  listen  to  it  for  its  music  merely.  It  is  distinctly  a  poem, 
carrying  a  meaning  which  is  not  in  any  sensuous  charm  of  pleasantly 
chosen  harmonies  or  agreeable  sequences  of  melody,  nor  yet  in  any 
formal  beauty.  Indeed,  the  beautiful,  as  such,  is  not  the  impression 
this  work  leaves  upon  us,  but  its  expression,  its  sorrow.  In  this,  then, 
we  come  upon  the  romantic  moment  of  music,  when  art  becomes  the 
expression  of  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  the  soul. 

Yet  another  example.  Let  us  take  the  Beethoven  Sonata  in  E  flat, 
op.  31  No.  3.  This  belongs  to  the  more  pleasing  moments  of  experience. 
The  Allegro  opens  with  a  motive  that  sounds  like  a  question,  an  im- 
pression having  its  source  partly  in  the  motive  itself  but  more  in  the 
harmony  which  supports  it.  The  entire  movement  is  short  and  not 
seriously  intended.  (Plays  entire  movement.)  This  is  followed  by  a 
Scherzo  which  has  something  song-like  in  it,  although  it  is  in  the  same 
form  as  the  preceding,  a  sonata-piece.  (Plays.)  This  is  followed 
by  a  Menuetto,  a  genuine  cantabile  movement  (one  of  the  loveliest,  by 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  IN  CLASSIC  MUSIC.  105 

the  way),  which  is  a  simple  binary  form.  (Plays.)  This,  again,  is  fol- 
lowed by  the  Finale,  which  also  is  a  sonata-piece,  perhaps  the  only  ex- 
ample in  the  Beethoven  sonatas  where  three  of  the  forms  of  the  same 
sonata  are  of  this  kind.  This  movement  is  extremely  jolly  and  pretty. 
(Plays.)  Listen  now  to  the  entire  sonata.  (Plays  entire  sonata.)  Here, 
as  you  perceive,  we  have  not  a  moment  of  grief  or  any  deep  sorrow,  nor 
yet  any  great  moral  earnestness.  But  instead  of  it  the  musical,  the 
symmetrical,  the  pleasing,  the  beautiful.  If  now  we  would  be  fully 
conscious  of  the  musical  distance  we  have  passed  over  we  should  hear 
again  the  Bach  Passacaglia.  (If  agreeable  the  Passacaglia  may  here 
be  heard  again.) 

When  we  thus  bring  these  two  extremes,  or  at  least  widely  separ- 
ated points,  of  the  musical  scale  into  juxtaposition,  we  are  able  to  real- 
ize that  the  beautiful  itself  is  not  the  principal  subject  of  the  Bach 
piece;  and  that  from  Bach  to  Beethoven  a  great  progress  has  been 
made  in  the  direction  of  the  lovely  and  the  expressive. 

Yet  one  more  example.  Let  us  observe  carefully  the  Air  and  Vari- 
ations in  B  flat  by  Schubert.  (Plays  Schubert's  air  from  the  Im- 
promptu in  B  flat,  op.  142.  Then  play  the  beginning  of  each  variation, 
calling  attention  to  the  motivization  of  each,  and  afterward  the  entire 
piece.)  In  this  lovely  work  we  have  something  very  different  from 
any  thing  we  find  in  the  Passacaglia,  or  even  in  the  Mozart  Andante. 
Yet  its  prevailing  expression  is  one  of  beauty  and  grace.  A  careful 
examination  of  it  will  indicate  considerable  attention  to  the  well-sound- 
ing, a  strict  but  purely  unconscious  observance  of  formal  beauty,  and 
beyond  this  a  perceptible  flavor  of  more  inward  and  exquisite  move- 
ment of  spirit.  Yet  this  without  at  all  going  into  the  depths  of  the 
soul.  Like  a  pleasant  sunset,  one  regards  it  with  delight,  but  com- 
posure. As  when  the  duties  of  the  day  are  done,  its  pleasant  exper- 
iences remembered,  all  its  annoyances  and  cares  forgotten,  in  peaceful 
contemplation  one  awaits  the  hour  of  sleep. 

In  all  these  examples  we  have  had  to  do  chiefly  with  formal  beauty, 
save  where  the  "Moonlight"  sonata  brought  us  to  a  still  more  inward 
exercise  of  spirit.  The  progress  thus  traced,  from  the  strict  musical 
logic  and  elevated  formal  beauty  of  Bach,  through  the  pleasing  and 
enchanting  in  Mozart,  Beethoven  and  Schubert,  and  the  deeply  heart- 
felt in  Beethoven's  latest  works,  goes  yet  further  in  the  romantic 
school,  as  we  shall  hereafter  see.  This  same  progress  is  traced  from 
the  vocal  side  in  Part  VII.,  on  Songs,  where  new  conditions  lead  to 
new  and  important  results.  The  smaller  classical  composers,  such  ag 
dementi  and  Dussek,  display  in  the  main  the  same  general  character- 


106  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

istics  as  we  have  observed  in  Beethoven,  yet  with  less  unity  and  im- 
aginative power.  Indeed  we  must  think  of  Dussek  as  an  imitator,  or 
at  least  follower  of  Mozart,  and  as  breaking  no  new  paths.  Bach, 
Haydn,  Mozart  and  Beethoven  comprehend  everything  that  properly 
belongs  to  the  classic  in  music. 

LIST  OP  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  Allegro  from  Bach's  Italian  Concerto. 

2.  Passacaglia  in  C  minor  for  the  organ.    Bach.    (Arranged  for  4  hands  oo  the 

piano.    Peters'  Ed.  No.  224.) 

3.  Andante  from  5th  Quintette,  Mozart.    (4  hands.    Peters'  Ed.  No.  997.) 

4.  The  "  Moonlight "  Sonata  of  Beethoven,  op.  27  No.  2. 

5.  Sonata  in  E  flat,  op.  31  No.  3,  Beethoven. 

6.  Impromptu  in  B  flat,  op.  142,  Schubert 


PART    SIXTH. 

STUDIES  O  THE  ROMANTIC 


LESSON     THIRTY-FIRST. 

THE    CHIVALROUS. 

"  The  chief  content  of  Chivalry,"  says  Hegel,  "  may  be  expressed 
as  Honor,  Love,  and  Fidelity"  The  idea  of  chivalry  carries  with  it  the 
heroic,  the  tender,  the  graceful  and  considerate,  and  above  all  the  noble 
and  dignified,  or,  as  Southerners  say,  "  the  high-toned."  This  phase 
of  musical  expression  finds  its  most  congenial  expression  in  the  works 
of  Chopin,  especially  in  the  Polonaises.  Yet  the  polonaise  expresses 
these  graces  in  many  instances  with  a  certain  qualification.  The  Chopin 
polonaise  not  only  represents  the  phases  of  chivalry,  but  there  runs 
through  it  the  sad  and  almost  morbid  element  of  Polish  character,  as  if 
the  unfortunate  history  of  this  country  had  imparted  a  tinge  of  sadness 
even  to  its  moments  of  victory.  Of  the  polonaise  in  general,  Liszt 
writes  : 

"  While  listening  to  some  of  the  polonaises  of  Chopin,  we  can  al- 
most catch  the  firm,  nay,  the  more  than  firm,  the  heavy,  resolute  tread 
of  men  bravely  facing  all  the  bitter  injustice  which  the  most  cruel  and 
relentless  destiny  can  offer,  with  the  manly  pride  of  unblenching  cour- 
age. 

"  The  progress  of  the  music  suggests  to  our  imagination  such  mag- 
nificent groups  as  were  designed  by  Paul  Veronese,  robed  in  the  rich 
costume  of  days  long  past;  we  see  passing  at  intervals  before  us, 
brocades  of  gold,  velvets,  damasked  satins,  silvery,  soft  and  flexible 
sables,  hanging  sleeves  gracefully  thrown  back  upon  the  shoulders, 
embossed  sabres,  boots  yellow  as  gold  or  red  with  trampled  blood, 
sashes  with  long  and  undulating  fringes,  close  chemisettes,  rustling 
trains,  stomachers  embroidered  with  pearls, head-dresses  glittering  with 

107 


108  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND   MUSIC. 

rubies  or  leafy  with  emeralds,  light  slippers  rich  with  amber,  gloves 
perfumed  with  the  luxurious  attar  from  the  harems. 

*'  From  the  faded  background  of  times  long  past  these  vivid  groups 
start  forth;  gorgeous  carpets  from  Persia  lie  at  their  feet,  filagreed  fur- 
niture from  Constantinople  stands  around;  all  is  marked  by  the  sump- 
tuous prodigality  of  the  magnates  who  drew,  in  ruby  goblets  embossed 
with  medallions,  wine  from  the  fountains  of  Tokay,  and  shod  their 
fleet  Arabian  steeds  with  silver  ;  who  surmounted  all  their  escutcheons 
with  the  same  crown  which  the  fate  of  an  election  might  render  a  royal 
one,  and  which,  causing  them  to  despise  all  other  titles,  was  alone  worn 
as  insigne  of  their  glorious  equality." 

Thus  in  the  Military  Polonaise  of  Chopin,  already  heard  several 
times  in  the  course  of  these  studies,  we  have  the  martial  element 
strongly  brought  out.  This  runs  through  the  whole  piece.  In  form 
this  polonaise  is  of  the  simple  binary  order.  The  second  leading  sub- 
ject beginning: 

Ex.  28. 


is  of  the  nature  of  a  "  trio."  Yet  in  this,  where  if  anywhere  we  would 
look  for  the  expression  of  tenderness,  the  military  ardor  glows  still 
unquenched.  After  one  strain  of  this  we  encounter  a  different  spirit. 
What  is  it?  (Plays  the  middle  strain  of  trio  beginning  with  the  trill 
on  C  sharp  in  the  bass.)  This  is  in  effect  a  salute.  ft  is  as  if  we  had 
been  witnessing  a  grand  review.  Here  the  general  and  his  staff  ride 
down  the  line,  and  we  hear  the  salute  of  honor,  the  roll  of  musketry, 
the  blare  of  the  trumpets,  and  see  the  waving  of  the  colors. 

On  the  other  hand  let  us  examine  a  work  in  which  there  is  much 
greater  diversity  of  momentary  expression,  and  consequently  much  less 
coherence. 

Observe,  now,  the  following:  (Plays  the  first  twelve  measures 
of  Polonaise  in  C  sharp  minor,  op.  26.)  Here  the  first  four 
measures  have  the  force  of  a  full  period;  they  start  off  splendidly,  with 
the  greatest  determination  and  courage.  In  the  next  eight  measures 
this  courage  still  exists,  it  is  true,  but  with  it  a  vein  of  weakness  be- 
comes apparent.  (Plays  this  phrase;  and  then  repeats  the  entire 
period.) 

At  the  twenty-fifth  measure  a  new  figure  meets  us,  not  referable 
to  any  warlike  spirit  as  such.  It  more  reminds  one  of  Liszt's  descrip- 
tion of  the  complicated  figures  and  constantly  fresh  inventions  intro- 


THE  CHIVALROUS.  109 

duced  into  the  Polish  dance.  (Plays  seven  measures.)  At  the  tenth 
measure  of  this  part  the  chivalrous  spirit  reappears.  (Plays  to  the  end 
of  this  part;  i.  e.,  to  the  signature  of  five  flats.) 

Here  enters  an  entirely  new  spirit.  Our  valiant  soldier  has  be- 
come entangled  in  the  snares  of  love.  Yet  note  how  tender  his  devo- 
tion. With  what  subtle  nobility  of  tenderness  he  breathes  his  love. 
(Plays  sixteen  measures  of  this  part.)  Here  at  the  seventeenth  meas- 
ure a  different  spirit  enters.  It  seems  a  conflict,  a  dialogue.  Above 
we  hear  the  woman's  voice,  gentle,  persistent,  tender;  below  the  man's, 
more  importunate,  not  so  reserved  and  regular.  The  denouement  each 
hearer  may  imagine  for  himself.  When  this  little  conflict  is  over  we 
have  again  the  gentle  song  of  love  which  opened  this  part.  And  thus 
the  piece  ends.  (Plays.) 

Observe  again  the  entire  piece.  (Plays  the  whole  piece.)  It  con- 
sists, as  you  perceive,  of  two  equal  parts  or  pictures,  different  sides  of  the 
same  nature.  The  first  martial  and  ardent;  the  second  tender  and 
pleading.  The  work  has  no  unity  except  in  so  far  as  the  uniform  rhyth- 
mic pulsation  throughout  the  piece  enables  us  to  recognize,  underneath 
all  those  moods,  the  beatings  of  the  same  hearts. 

Here,  again,  and  in  order  to  study  the  polonaise  from  a  different 
stand-point,  observe  the  following:  (Plays  Polacca  Brilliant  in  E,  op. 
72,  Von  Weber.)  This,  as  you  perceive,  is  a  melodious  and  poetic 
piece,  but  it  lacks  the  nameless  grace  and  charm  of  the  Chopin  works, 
though  to  very  many,  and  perhaps  to  all,  there  is  something  extremely 
pleasing  in  its  freshness,  which  has  nothing  in  it  of  a  morbid  char- 
acter. 

Again,  observe  this  little  polonaise  of  Schumann's:  (Plays  the 
polonaise  in  D,  out  of  the  papillons,  op.  2.) 

In  order  to  understand  this  phase  of  music  fully  we  need  to  ex- 
amine three  more  vorkt.  The  first  is  the  Chopin  polonaise  in  A  flat, 
op.  53.  This  is  in  the  grand  style.  Observe  the  Introduction.  (Plays 
sixteen  measures.)  See  how  strong  and  resistless  the  impulse!  Then 
enters  the  .theme.  (Plays  from  seventeenth  measure  to  the  end  of  this 
part,  through  forty-eighth  measure.)  Here  at  the  forty-ninth  measure 
there  enters  one  of  those  capricious  figures  referred  to  by  Liszt. 
Evidently  it  is  of  a  grandiose  and  somewhat  startling  character;  it  is 
repeated  with  emphasis  (represented  by  the  transposition  to  a  higher 
degree).  At  the  fifty-seventh  measure  a  grand  and  dignified  melody 
begins,  which  presently  brings  us  again  to  the  theme.  (Plays  four 
measures  and  four  measures;  and  then  this  melody;  then  the  theme 
and  so  on  through  the  Principal  to  the  change  of  signature.) 


HO  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

Here  at  the  change  of  key  a  new  caprice  presents  itself.  In  the 
treble  we  have  a  very  quiet  melody;  under  it  in  the  bass  a  monotonous 
octave  figure  repeated  over  and  over  many  times,  at  first  very  softly, 
then  by  degrees  louder.  It  expands  and  expands  until  it  fills  the  whole 
field  of  observation;  then  it  subsides  only  to  mount  up  once  more. 
(Plays  through  the  passage  containing  bass  running  passage  in  octaves.) 
At  the  end  of  the  octaves  there  enters  a  gentle  figure  in  G  major, 
afterwards  transposed  to  A  flat,  and  this,  after  some  time,  leads  again 
to  the  principal,  and  so  to  the  close.  (Plays  last  part  of  piece.)  Ob- 
serve now  the  whole  work.  (Plays  the  entire  polonaise.)  This  piece, 
in  spite  of  a  considerable  degree  of  contrast  between  the  various  strains, 
is  essentially  of  one  spirit,  and  that  of  an  extremely  heroic,  dignified, 
and  noble  character. 

Another  work  of  this  class  and  remarkable  for  still  greater  con- 
trasts, though,  as  a  whole  pervaded  by  a  more  refined  (and  possibly 
effeminate)  spirit,  is  the  Chopin  polonaise  in  E  flat,  bp.  22.  This  work 
is  preceded  by  a  charming  Andante  Spianato,  which  belongs  to  the 
tender  side  of  emotion.  The  polonaise  enters  thus:  (Plays.)  In  the 
sixtieth  measure  of  the  polonaise  proper  (not  counting  the  orchestral 
tutti  intervening  between  the  andante  and  the  polonaise)  a  series  of 
strong  contrasts  begins.  Here  we  have  two  lines  of  extremely  bold 
octaves  in  both  hands.  (Plays.)  In  the  sixty-seventh  measure  a  soft 
and  delicate  melody  enters,  concluding  with  some  delicate  cadencing, 
in  the  sixty-ninth,  etc.  (Plays.)  In  the  seventy-third  measure  a  bold 
and  fiery  passage  bursts  in,  closing  with  an  octave  passage.  (Plays.) 
In  the  eighty-third  measure  a  lovely  melody  in  C  minor  begins.  (Plays.) 
But  enough.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  in  this  piece  we  have  almost  every 
phase  of  the  Chopin  nature  represented,  and  it  is  rightly  counted  for 
one  of  his  most  exquisite  works. 

Still  another  and  more  sensational  work  of  this  school  is  Liszt's 
Polonaise  in  E.  This  great  work  (one  of  the  best  of  Liszt's)  contains 
very  few  of  the  refinements  we  have  seen  so  abundant  in  the  work  last 
considered.  Nay,  it  is  even  less  so  than  the  heroic  polonaise  in  A  flat. 
Yet  it  is  a  concert-piece  of  the  same  general  type,  and  as  such  deserves 
to  be  carefully  heard.  The  finest  work  in  it  is  in  the  Cadenza. 
(Plays.) 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  Chopin's  Polonaise  Militaire,  op.  40,  No.  1. 

2.  Chopin's  Polonaise  in  C  sharp  minor,  op.  26,  No.  1. 

3.  Polacca  Brilliante  in  E,  Weber,  op.  72. 

4.  Schumann's  Polonaise  in  D  (out  of  Papillons,  op.  2). 

5.  Chopin  Polonaise  in  A  flat,  op.  53. 

6.  Chopin's  Andante  and  Polonaise  in  E  flat,  op.  22. 

7.  Liszt's  Polonaise  Heroique  in  E. 


THE  GENTLE  AND  SENTIMENTAL;  THE  DEEPLY  TENDER. 


LESSON  THIRTY- SECOND. 

THE  GENTLE  AND  SENTIMENTAL;  THE  DEEPLY  TENDER. 

The  earliest  consistent  examples  of  this  kind  of  spirit  worked  out 
in  pianoforte  music  in  simple  forms,  are  to  be  found  in  some  of  the 
Haydn  adagios  and  andantes,  and  the  Field  nocturnes,  the  latter  most 
particularly.  Field  very  probably  derived  more  or  less  suggestion  from 
the  slow  movements  in  Beethoven  sonatas,  all  of  which,  as  far  as 
the  "Waldstein"  appassionata  and  "Kreutzer"  sonatas,  were  published 
before  the  Field  nocturnes.  In  many  of  the  earlier  sonatas  of  Bee- 
thoven we  find  short  passages  in  the  genuine  nocturne  vein;  as,  e.  g.,  in 
the  Adagio  of  sonata  pathetique,  the  Menuet  in  the  sonata  in  E  flat, 
op.  31,  etc.  To  Field,  however,  is  due  the  credit  of  having  established 
the  form  of  the  nocturne  as  an  independent  piece  for  piano,  in  a  ten- 
der, elegiac  vein,  and,  both  in  point  of  difficulty  and  emotional  range, 
keeping  it  within  the  resources  of  amateurs  generally.  Here,  e.  g.,  is 
such  a  piece.  (Plays  Field's  nocturne  in  B  flat.)  This  piece,  like  all  of 
Field's,  is  characterized  by  an  extremely  clear  and  limpid  style,  and  a 
truly  refined  and  delicate  spirit. 

Field  was  not  insensible  to  the  advantages  of  contrast,  as  we  see 
in  the  following,  where  the  second  subject  makes  an  admirable  con- 
trast with  the  first.  (Plays  Field's  nocturne  in  D,  No.  13.) 

Mendelssohn,  however,  is  the  magician  who  first  made  known  to 
amateurs  generally  the  latent  singing  powers  of  the  pianoforte.  This 
he  did  in  his  famous  works,  the  "  Songs  Without  Words."  No  doubt 
the  fortunate  selection  of  title  had  much  to  do  with  their  immediate 
popularity,  which  was  very  great,  and  has  in  fact  continued  ever  since. 

The  first  book  of  these  beautiful  works  was  published  in  1829 
and  contained  six  pieces,  in  which  the  Mendelssohnian  spirit  is  unmis- 
takable. In  the  first  we  have  a  tender  melody  and  a  gentle  and 
well-blended  accompaniment,  which,  when  well  played,  is  truly  charm- 
ing. (Plays.)  In  the  second  we  have  a  vein  of  sadness  or  melancholy,  as 
well  as  the  usual  tenderness.  (Plays.)  The  third  is  the  well-known 
"  Hunting  Song,"  which  may  well  enough  be  heard  here  for  the  sake  of 
the  contrast.  (Plays  No.  3.)  No.  6  is  a  Venetian  Gondellied  in  which 


112  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

one  plainly  hears  the  melancholy  and  passion  of  a  decayed  and  fading 
race.  (Plays.)  "Whatever  meaning  we  may  be  led  by  their  fanciful 
titles  to  attach  to  these  pieces,  they  all  speak  unmistakably  the  voice  of 
tenderness  and  sadness.  Whenever  we  are  in  any  similar  mood  these 
pieces  chime  in  with  our  feelings,  and  utter  the  very  tones  we  would 
ourselves  have  originated.  This  is  the  quality  of  popularity:  to  seem 
to  say  what  every  reader  would  himself  have  said  (if  only  he  had 
thought  to  do  it).  And  this  quality  the  Mendelssohn  songs  possess 
in  the  most  eminent  degree.  Another  example  of  the  same  spirit  we 
have  in  the  lovely  Duetto  in  A  flat,  No.  18,  which  may  be  heard  again 
if  desired.  (Let  it  be  played  if  it  is  not  clearly  remembered  from  for- 
mer citations.) 

Chopin  took  up  the  nocturne  form  as  Field  left  it,  and  imparted 
to  it  a  greater  depth  and  range  of  meaning.  One  of  the  simplest 
types  of  his  is  the  second  one,  the  lovely  nocturne  in  E  flat,  op.  9, 
No.  2.  This  consists  of  a  gentle  melody  and  a  delicate  accompaniment 
of  chords.  It  is  extremely  unpretending,  yet  it  is  one  of  the  most 
perfect  gems  in  this  department  of  composition.  (Plays.) 

Here,  in  the  4th  nocturne,  he  avails  himself  of  a  stronger  contrast. 
(Plays  nocturne  in  F,  op.  15,  No.  1.) 

Another  of  the  singing  nocturnes  of  Chopin  is  that  in  B  maj.,  op. 
32,  No.  1.  (Plays.) 

In  the  13th  nocturne  there  is  a  deeper  meaning.  It  tells  of  greater 
depths  of  passion,  and  has  stronger  contrasts  than  those  already 
heard.  (Plays  the  nocturne  in  C  minor,  op.  48,  No.  1.) 

Two  of  the  most  admired  of  these  works  are  those  in  G,  op.  37. 
No.  1  in  G  minor  is  an  elegy  full  of  sadness  and  longing.  It  is  relieved 
by  an  episode  of  pure  uninverted  triads,  like  a  church  piece.  In 
this  we  have  portrayed  a  deep  and  spiritual  peace.  (Plays.) 

The  second  one,  in  G  maj.,  is  of  a  much  more  genial  and  cheer- 
ful character,  delicate  and  tender.  Owing  to  the  preponderance  of 
thirds  and  sixths  it  is  extremely  difficult  to  play  well.  (Plays.) 

LIST  or  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  Nocturne  in  B6,  Field. 

2.  Nocturne  in  D,  No.  13,  Field. 

3.  Nos.  1,  2,  3,  6  and  18  of  Songs  without  Words,  Mendelssohn. 

4.  Nocturne  in  Eft,  op.  9,  Chopin. 

5.  Nocturne  in  F,  op.  15,  Chopin. 

6.  Nocturnes  in  B,  op.  32 ;  C  min.,  op.  48 ;  and  G,  op.  37,  Chopin. 


THE  HUMORISTIC  AND  THE  PASSIONATE.  H3 


LESSON    THIRTY -THIRD. 

THE   HUMORISTIC   AND   THE   PASSIONATE. 

By  the  name  Humor  the  Germans  denote  caprices,  whims,  mooda, 
change  ;  and  not  the  ludicrous,  as  in  later  English  usage.  There  is  one 
side  of  the  modern  romantic  school  which  can  be  appropriately  named 
by  no  other  term  than  humoristic.  This  is  nearly  the  same  as  whim- 
sical, the  difference  being  that  the  latter  term  has  acquired  an  objection- 
able meaning,  like  the  "foolishly  humoristic"  or  the  "unreasonably 
humoristic."  This  element  of  musical  expression  frequently  exceeds 
the  bounds  of  beauty,  and  is  indeed  allied  to  realism,  since  realism  in 
music  is  in  fact  nothing  but  musical  expression  made  subservient  to  a 
str-ictly  literal  representation  of  natural  sounds  or  common-place  sen- 
sations. Humor  in  music  frequently  approaches  the  grotesque.  The 
great  exponent  of  this  school  is  Schumann,  whose  fancy  ran  wild  in 
every  direction,  and  only  in  exceptional  cases  controlled  itself  accord- 
ing to  the  moderate  and  decorous. 

Here,  for  example,  are  three  little  pieces  from  the  Kinderscenen. 
(Plays  successively,  "From  Strange  Lands,"  "A  Curious  Story,"  and 
"Playing  Tag,"  the  first  three  pieces  in  the  "Scenes  from  Childhood.") 
These  little  pieces,  as  you  observe,  are  entirely  unlike  each  other,  and 
each  one  is  complete  in  itself.  The  first  a  graceful  little  melody.  The 
second  a  bright  and  rather  sprightly  and  forcible  little  piece  in  march 
time.  The  third  a  sort  of  presto  with  very  strong  accents.  It  would 
be  a  very  superior  sort  of  clairvoyance  in  any  one  who  should  be  able 
to  guess  the  names  of  these  pieces  from  hearing  them  played.  Yet  the 
names  give  a  very  decided  assistance  toward  divining  the  author's 
meaning.  Observe  now  the  following:  (Plays  No.  5,  "  Happy  Enough," 
No.  7,  "  Traumerei,"  and  "  Frightening,"  No.  11.)  Among  larger 
pieces  of  the  humoristic  type  are  to  be  mentioned  the  Schumann  Phan- 
tasiestucke,  op.  12.  It  is  of  the  first  of  these  that  Franz  Brendel  re- 
marks: "It  brings  us  blessed  enjoyment,  vernal  airs,  and  flowery  sa- 
vors." (Plays  "In  the  Evening.")  This  dreamy  nocturne  is  followed 
by  a  powerfully  excited  piece  called  "Aufschwung"  "Soaring,"  a  name 
intended  to  convey  the  idea  of  such  a  mental  state  as  one  falls  into  in 
8 


114  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

wakeful  hours  of  night,  especially  after  taking  too  strong  tea,  or  a  light 
opiate.  Then  the  brain  is  preternaturally  active,  nothing  seems  im- 
possible; the  most  brilliant  conceptions  throng  the  mind,  one  visits 
strange  lands,  rises  into  unknown  regions,  solves  impossible  problems. 
The  sober  light  of  day  dissolves  all  these  visions,  but  while  they  last 
they  carry  the  bewildered  visionary  captive  at  their  will.  Such  a  piece 
is  this:  (Plays  "Soaring.")  Then  follows  a  sort  of  musical  conundrum, 
"  TParwra,"  "Why."  It  consists  of  a  single  motive  many  times  slowly 
repeated,  accompanied  by  a  restless  accompaniment  of  chords  entering 
on  the  half-beat.  (Plays  Warum.)  Then  follows  yet  a  different  strain, 
called  "  Whims,"  of  which  we  need  no  further  explanation  than  the 
title.  (Plays  Grillen) 

In  all  these  pieces  we  plainly  see  that  the  beautiful,  as  such,  is  not 
sought  by  the  composer.  They  afford  neither  the  sensuous  charm  of 
delicately-balanced  phrases,  sweetly-modulating  chords,  or  any  other 
mere  gratification  of  a  love  for  .the  well-sounding.  Quite  as  little  do 
they  afford  satisfaction  in  contemplation.  Formal  beauty  they  do  not 
possess.  Their  distinctive  merits  are  two:  First,  their  coherence  as 
music.  Here  comes  along  a  new  composer,  Schumann,  a  hundred  years 
later  than  Bach,  and  develops  musical  ideas  in  ways  that  are  musically 
right  and  proper,  and  yet  new.  And,  second,  these  humoristic  pieces 
carry  us  along  with  them,  move  us,  excite  us,  as  the  Bach  pieces  do 
not.  You  may  pronounce  them  unbeautiful  if  you  please,  but  they  are 
musically  right  and  genuinely  expressive. 

There  is  also  a  darker  side  of  the  picture.  Observe  now  this: 
(Plays  Schumann's  "In  the  Night.")  It  is  of  this  piece  that  Franz  Bren- 
del  says:  "It is  a  powerful  night-piece,  hobgoblin-filled,  awful  pictures, 
anxious  waking-dreams;  a  state  of  soul  the  opposite  of  the  'Evening' 
formerly  mentioned."  This  vein  is  not  uncommon  in  Schumann,  es- 
pecially in  his  later  years.  It  also  appears  in  Chopin  as  the  first  part 
of  the  first  movement  of  the  sonata  in  B  flat  minor,  op.  35,  and  in  many 
other  places.  So  also  many  of  the  Beethoven  pieces  must  have  sounded 
in  this  vein  when  they  were  new,  before  the  listener's  ears  had  be- 
come accustomed  to  the  rapid  modulations  of  these  pieces  and  their 
restlessness.  This  spirit  is  also  to  be  met  with  in  Bach,  as  in  the  great 
organ  prelude  in  A  minor,  and  in  many  other  pieces.  This  prelude, 
for  example,  seems  to  aim  at  representing  a  tossed  and  troubled  spirit, 
like  the  waves  of  the  sea.  Neither  the  tuneful  as  such,  nor  still  less 
the  reposeful,  could  have  been  intended.  They  cannot  be  called  beau- 
tiful since  they  are  neither  pleasing  to  hear,  satisfactory  to  continually 
meditate  upon,  nor  inspiring  except  as  they  widen  the  range  of  musical 


THE  FANCIFUL  AND  PLEASING.  115 

expression  and  serve  for  contrast,  thereby  heightening  the  beauty  of 
other  movements  with  which  they  are  associated.  This  use,  however, 
was  not  intended  either  by  Bach  or  Schumann.  The  former  wrote  them 
for  the  purpose  of  expressing  himself  in  this  direction,  which  he  saw  to 
be  legitimate  and  possible;  Schumann,  to  satisfy  his  musical  instincts 
in  the  same  way,  and  also  to  gratify  morbid  moods. 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  Schumann's  Kinderscenen  (Scenes  from  Childhood)  op.  15.  Nos  1,  2,  3,  5,  7,  11. 

2.  Schumann's  "  In  the  Evening,"  No.  1  in  op.  12. 

3.  Aufschwung,  or  "  Soaring,"  No.  2  in  the  same. 

4.  Warum,  "  Why  ?"  the  same. 

5.  Grillen,  "  Whims,"  from  the  same. 

6.  "  In  the  Night,"  No.  5  in  the  same. 

7.  First  part  of  Allegro  in  Chopin  Sonata,  op.  35. 

8.  Great  Organ  Prelude  in  A  minor.    ("V  ol.  II.  Bach's  Organ  Works,  Peters'  Ed.) 


LESSON     THIRTY-FOURTH. 

THE  FANCIFUL  AND  PLEASING. 

Pieces  of  this  class  represent  the  lighter  sentiments  of  social  life, 
especially  of  polite  society.  We  find  in  them  symmetrical  and  grace- 
ful forms,  permeated  by  a  bright  and  pleasing  spirit.  They  are  re- 
fined and  true,  but  they  do  not  express  the  heroic  or  despairing 
moments  of  the  soul.  In  consequence  of  their  representing  so  com- 
pletely the  spirit  of  social  life,  they  are  eminently  suitable  for  parlor 
performance.  Observe  this  elegant  waltz.  (Plays  Chopin's  waltz  in  A 
flat,  op.  34,  No.  1.)  This  is  the  very  spirit  of  the  world  and  of  society. 
Another  example  of  the  same  kind  is  Rubinstein's  Valse  Caprice  in 
E  flat.  (Plays.)  Still  another,  and  a  famous  one,  too,  is  Weber's 
"  Invitation  to  the  Dance."  (Plays.)  This  latter  is  more  perfectly  ideal- 
ized than  either  of  the  preceding.  The  introduction  is  moderate  and 
meditative,  as  if  undecided  whether  to  dance  or  not.  Fanciful  people 
have  imagined  that  they  saw  in  it  the  advance  of  the  gentleman  and 
his  address  to  the  lady,  her  acceptance,  their  quiet  and  fragmentary 
talk  in  the  moment  before  the  dance  actually  begins.  Then  the  dance 
itself.  At  the  close  he  re-conducts  the  lady  gracefully  to  her  seat,  in 
the  figure  of  the  introduction. 


116  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

Another  example  of  similar  spirit  is  the  elegant  Chopin  Rondo  in 
E  flat,  op.  16,  which,  though  long  and  difficult,  is  conceived  in  the  spirit 
of  play,  and  represents  the  light  and  worldly  side  of  feeling,  yet  with  true 
refinement  and  earnestness.  (Plays.)  Were  we  to  go  further  in  this 
field  we  might  bring  forward  the  elegant  Scherzo  in  B  flat  minor,  op. 
31,  a  very  beautiful  and  poetic  piece,  which  contains,  perhaps,  rather 
more  of  meaning  than  this  list  properly  includes. 

This  field  is  practically  illimitable.  It  includes  all  the  lighter 
works  of  the  greatest  composers,  except  Schumann,  who  has  left  nothing 
properly  belonging  to  it,  and  almost  the  entire  production  of  very 
many  smaller  writers,  such  as  Schulhoff,  Jaell,Hunten,  Leybach,  Gotts- 
chalk,  etc.,  etc. 

Pieces  of  this  class  should  be  elegantly  written  and  agreeably 
sounding.  In  the  nature  of  the  case  they  are  perfectly  easy  to  under~ 
stand,  for  which  reason  we  do  not  dwell  upon  them,  but  content  our- 
selves with  simply  calling  attention  to  them. 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  Chopin's  Valse  in  A  flat,  op.  34,  No.  2. 

2.  Rubinstein's  Valse  Caprice  in  E  flat. 

3.  Weber's  Invitation  to  the  Dance. 

4.  Chopin's  Introduction  and  Rondo  in  E  flat,  op.  16. 

5.  Chopin's  Scherzo  in  B  flat  minor,  op.  31. 

6.  Mill's  1st  Tarantelle. 

7.  Raff  s  Valse  Impromptu  in  B  flat,  op.  94. 


LESSON  THIRTY -FIFTH. 

THE   SENSATIONAL  AND   THE  ASTONISHING. 

In  ordinary  English  usage,  the  term  Romantic  implies  something 
"  striking,"  "  characterized  by  strong  contrasts,"  "  sensational,"  etc. 
Our  studies  thus  far  in  this  school  of  music  are  sufficient  to  show  us  the 
propriety  of  its  name.  In  the  previous  lessons  we  have,  indeed,  come 
upon  only  the  more  reasonable  and  justifiable  features  of  the  romantic, 
in  which  the  beautiful  in  some  sense  is  the  supreme  object.  Recent 
music,  however,  and  particularly  pianoforte  music,  contains  many  pro- 
ductions in  which  the  sensational  and  the  astonishing  are  the  ends 
sought.  Of  this  kind  are  concert  pieces  in  general,  especially  the 


THE  SENSATIONAL  AND  THE  ASTONISHING.  117 

earlier  works  of  Liszt,  and  most  of  the  productions  of  other  virtuoso 
players.  Such,  also,  are  very  many  orchestral  works,  especially  some 
of  Berlioz,  Saint-Saens,  Wagner's  "  Ride  of  the  Valkyrie,"  etc. 

In  making  the  sensational  their  object,  all  of  these  exceed  the 
bounds  of  the  beautiful,  and  are  of  real  use  in  art  only  in  so  far  as  they 
break  new  paths  of  technical  accomplishment,  and  thereby  provide 
means  of  expression  which  may  afterwards  be  employed  in  artistic 
creation.  In  this  way  all  great  virtuosi  have  illustrated  the  capacity  of 
their  instruments,  and  in  their  works  have  provided  useful  studies  for 
the  mastery  of  peculiar  difficulties.  Of  this  kind,  for  example,  are  the 
Caprices  of  Paganirii,  which,  while  containing  many  musical  and  beauti- 
ful passages,  are  in  general  rather  extravagant,  and  almost  entirely 
wanting  in  symmetry  and  repose.  They  resemble  tropical  vegetation 
where  in  a  humid  soil  and  a  dank  atmosphere  the  most  extravagant  and 
fantastic  growths  are  seen,  luxuriant  and  beautiful  in  abounding 
vitality,  yet  oppressive  to  the  senses. 

In  all  these  productions,  moreover,  there  is  a  certain  charm  which 
recommends  them  to  the  player.  It  is  not  unlike  what  Ruskin  calls 
"vital  beauty,  or  the  appearance  of  felicitous  fulfillment  of  function  in 
living  creatures;"  in  other  words,  their  remarkable  adaptation  to  the 
instrument  for  which  they  were  composed.  The  study  of  them  has 
particular  value  in  affording  a  free  and  dashing  mode  of  playing. 

The  sensational  in  piano  music  dates  from  the  discovery  of  the 
diminished  seventh  and  its  chromatic  susceptibility.  Thus  in  many  of 
the  earlier  Liszt  pieces  there  are  passages  which  are  neither  pretty  nor 
expressive,  but  which  are  merely  noise.  This  kind  we  have  illustrated 
in  the  "  Lucia,"  for  instance,  and  in  the  Rigoletto  chromatic  cadenza, 
described  in  Lesson  XIX. 

Another  example  is  found  in  the  cadenza  near  the  close  in  Raff's 
Polka  de  la  Reine.  (Plays  cadenza  of  diminished  sevenths  in  the  bass, 
and  the  ascending  passages  belonging  to  them;  afterwards  the  entire 
piece.) 

Of  this  kind  are  the  cadenzas  in  the  Chopin  concerto,  referred  to 
in  Lesson  XIX.  (Play  if  convenient.)  In  the  Liszt  concerto  in  E 
flat,  we  have  many  examples  of  this  kind  of  work,  put  together  much 
more  loosely.  (Play,  if  convenient.) 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  there  is  something  satisfactory  in  the 
way  in  which  these  effects  are  planned.  Thus  in  Liszt's  "Rigoletto" 
fantasia  we  have  opening  passages  which  although  brilliant  and  pleas- 
ing are  not  very  difficult.  Then  follows  the  pretty  melody,  and,  after 
the  striking  sequence  of  chromatic  modulations,  the  cadenza  already 


118  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

described  comes  in.  The  work  then  resumes  the  melody  pianissimo, 
with  very  delicate  and  pretty  runs,  rising  occasionally  to  fortissimo. 
Still  the  general  build  of  these  three  pages  is  the  pianissimo.  At  the  close 
of  this  part  there  is  a  cadenza  which  is  of  extremely  simple  construc- 
tion, but  when  well  done  is  even  more  showy  than  that  at  the  end  of  the 
first  part.  This,  in  turn,  is  followed  by  the  octave  finale,  at  first  softly, 
but  at  the  close  working  up  to  a  brilliant  and  astonishing  effect.  The 
success  of  the  piece  lies  in  the  care  with  which  the  brilliant  passages 
are  preceded  with  those  of  a  soft  and  pleasing  character,  and  this  must 
be  observed  by  the  performer  who  expects  to  make  a  success  with  it. 

This  reserve — these  long  passages  of  really  musical  writing  leading 
to  astonishing  and  sensational  passages,  are  the  saving  elements  in 
bravoura  pieces.  The  Liszt  concerto  is  an  extremely  fragmentary 
work.  It  is  written  on  a  plan,  and  very  cleverly  too;  but  its  primary 
elements  are  few,  and  it  entirely  lacks  the  artistic  coherence  and  re- 
pose of  such  work  as  that  in  Chopin's  concerto  in  E  minor  or  in  F 
minor.  All  of  the  Liszt  bravoura  pieces  are  written  on  the  same  plan, 
the  climaxes  being  of  occasional  occurrence  and  carefully  foreseen. 
Thus  the  well-known  "Tannhauser  March"  opens  brilliantly  with 
the  trumpet  call,  but  presently  subsides  into  a  very  reasonable  and 
agreeably  sustained  presentation  of  the  chorus.  Gradually,  however, 
the  movement  becomes  more  and  more  elaborate,  and  at  last  reaches 
an  imposing  effect. 

All  this  modern  virtuoso  bravoura  rests  upon  the  idea  of  astonish- 
ing by  mere  sensation,  and  therein  stands  upon  a  lower  plane  than  the 
cadenza  formations  of  the  older  musicians.  Bach,  Handel,  Beethoven 
and  Mendelssohn,  all  were  great  performers  who  could  entertain  the 
most  cultivated  audiences  by  their  masterly  improvisations.  But  in 
their  cadenzas  they  made  their  effect  by  the  musicianship  with  which 
they  elaborated  and  handled  their  themes,  and  not  with  any  merely 
vulgar  scrambling  about  the  keyboard  in  apparently  impossible  pas- 
sages. 

Nevertheless  the  ways  of  Nature  are  not  so  crude  after  all ;  for 
every  creature  has  its  natural  enemy  which  acts  as  a  check  upon  its 
undue  multiplication.  So  here,  this  sensationalism  finally  reaches 
bounds.  Such  a  passage  of  sevenths  as  that  of  Raffs,  already  referred 
to,  is  the  limit.  This  is  mere  noise,  and  just  as  bad  and  astonishing 
as  any  other  hideous  succession  of  chords  played  fortissimo  on  the  bass 
of  the  pianoforte.  So,  also,  Liszt  in  one  piece  and  another  covered  the 
possibilities  of  radically  different  passages  which  would  at  the  same 
time  be  playable,  and  therein  effective.  Hence  in  the  later  period 


THE  SENSATIONAL  AND  THE  ASTONISHING.  H9 

of  his  creative  activity  he  gave  over  the  piano  as  a  bravoura  instru- 
ment, and  applied  his  powers  to  the  reproduction  of  pieces  of  every 
kind  upon  it,  which  had  hitherto  been  supposed  impossible.  And  in 
these,  although  a  great  technique  and  abounding  courage  are  presup- 
posed for  the  player,  the  emphasis  is  put  on  musical  declamation  and 
the  imitation  of  orchestral  effects,  or  at  least  their  substitution  by 
pianoforte  equivalents  (as  in  engraving  such  and  such  lines  represent 
one  color,  and  such  and  such  another,  though  all  in  the  engraving  are 
in  black  and  white).  In  this,  while  he  by  no  means  rises  into  the  plane 
of  original  creation,  he  certainly  entitles  himself  to  respect  by  employ- 
ing his  powers  for  worthy  uses.  Three  remarkable  examples  of  this 
kind  are  afforded  by  Liszt's  transcriptions  of  the  Wagner  "  Spinnlied," 
"Isolde's  Liebes  Tod,"  and  " Lohengrin's  Verweis  an  Elsa."  Another 
fine  example  is  in  Billow's  excessively  difficult  transcription  of  Wag- 
ner's "  Faust  Overture."  These  observations  hold  true  of  other  vir- 
tuoso work  since  Liszt,  such  as  the  concert  pieces  of  Tausig,  Saint- 
Saens,  etc. 

It  should  be  said  of  these  experiments  in  the  sensational  that,  like 
most  of  the  prominent  features  of  the  romantic  school,  they  have  found 
their  inciting  cause  in  poetry,  or  the  effort  to  represent  by  means  of 
music  something  which,  properly  speaking,  is  neither  in  music  nor  in 
any  strict  and  proper  sense  representable  by  it.  This  has  already  been 
suggested  in  the  lesson  on  descriptive  music,  and  comes  more  x*Uinly 
in  review  in  the  next  following  discussion  of  Songs. 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  Liszt's  "Rigoletto." 

2.  Raff's  "  Polka  cle  le  Reine.' 

3.  Chopin  Concerto  in  E  minor,  op.  11. 

4.  Liszt's  Concerto  in  E  flat. 

5.  Liszt's  "Tannhauser  March." 


PAET  SEVENTH. 

STUDIES    IN    SONG 


LESSON    THIKTY-SIX. 

THE  INFLUENCE  OF  POETRY  UPON  MUSIC. 

Modern  music  owes  its  development  to  the  co- working  of  three  in- 
fluences. The  first  of  these  is  the  better  comprehension  of  the  nature 
of  music  itself;  the  true  relations  of  tonality,  harmonic  progressions, 
melody,  and  form  to  each  other;  and  the  logical  methods  of  handling1 
musical  ideas  merely  as  music,  arid  aside  from  a  definitely  chosen 
emotional  content  seeking  expression  through  them.  The  second 
operative  force  is  the  general  progress  in  art  conception,  and  especially 
the  overmastering  desire  of  the  Romantic  for  a  natural  and  valid  means 
of  expressing  feeling,  merely  as  such,  and  uncolored  with  conscious 
thought.  The  third  of  these  forces  is  the  influence  of  poetry  upon 
music,  and  especially  of  the  desire  to  express,  by  means  of  music,  ideas 
not  properly  belonging  to  it,  but  suggested  to  it  by  poetry. 

These  three  have  operated  simultaneously  throughout  the  history 
of  music.  Yet  it  may  be  truly  said  that  the  first  of  them  came  soonest 
to  expression;  and  this  very  naturally.  For  in  the  earliest  times,  when 
the  development  of  music  began,  its  relation  to  the  other  arts  was  not 
understood;  indeed  the  meaning  of  art  in  general  has  only  lately  begun 
to  be  fathomed.  So  the  musician  worked  by  himself  as  a  musician, 
seeking  to  comprehend  the  mysteries  of  this  new  form  of  art,  and  to 
reproduce  his  thoughts  in  it.  Outside  influences  were  not  wanting 
here,  particularly  that  of  the  church.  On  the  whole,  as  already  suggested 
in  Chapter  XXIII,  the  influence  of  religion  has  been  of  the  highest 
advantage  to  art  by  raising  and  purifying  its  ideal.  But  Religion  is 
one  thing,  and  the  Church  sometimes  another.  And  so  while  Religion 
has  always  performed  this  service  to  art,  and  has  further  extended  her 

120 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  POETRY  UPON  MUSIC.  121 

inspiration  to  music  in  particular,  in  the  form  of  sublime  hymns  and 
canticles  which  become  truly  complete  in  the  liturgy  only  when  music's 
voice  has  modulated  and  shaped  the  hallowed  utterance,  the  influence 
of  the  Church  has  sometimes  tended  in  the  direction  of  mere  con- 
ventionality. They  have  it  for  a  proverb  in  Germany,  that  when  a 
composer  has  written  all  his  original  ideas,  he  can  then  compose  only 
church  music.  And  so  the  truly  original  musicians  in  every  generation 
have  developed  and  matured  their  talents  in  purely  secular  fields,  and 
only  in  old  age  have  brought  a  single  wreath  (often  of  flowers  how 
precious!  and  gathered  in  fields,  how  far  away  !  )  and  laid  it  with  pal- 
sied but  reverent  hand  upon  the  altar.  So  did  Bach  in  his  Passion 
Music  and  his  one  Mass;  so  also  did  Handel  with  his  immortal  "Mes- 
siah," a  work  in  which  we  hear  not  the  feeble  and  uncertain  accents  of 
age,  but  the  sweet  songs  of  hope  and  trust,  as  if  the  old  composer  had 
tasted  before  time  the  fountain  of  eternal  youth,  or  that,  like  the  servant 
of  the  prophet,  his  eyes  had  been  opened  so  that  he  saw  the  mountains 
full  of  the  chariots  of  the  Lord.  So  was  it  with  Mozart  in  his  Requiem ; 
and  Beethoven  with  his  colossal  Mass  in  D  minor.  But  as  a  rule,  all 
the  composers,  who  gave  coherence  and  shape  to  music,  arrived  at  their 
results  by  working  in  purely  secular  fields,  where  the  swift-coming 
fancies  might  all  find  legitimate  utterance.  In  particular  the  com- 
posers who  wrote  music,  as  music  merely,  were  Bach,  Haydn,  and 
Beethoven;  and,  since  them,  Schumann  and  Chopin,  though  the  latter  is 
rather  to  be  counted  for  a  worker  in  one  particular  province  of  music, 
the  pianoforte,  than  in  the  whole  field  of  absolute  and  independent 
music. 

The  influence  of  the  second  of  these  operative  forces  has  been 
silent  and  unconscious,  as  indeed,  inspiration  generally  is.  There  has 
never  been  an  authoritative  declaration  of  the  meaning  of  art,  least  of 
all  by  artists.  Each  man  has  builded,  moulded,  painted,  sung  or  pro- 
phesied as  the  inner  force  impelled  him.  His  life  has  gone  into  his 
works.  When  death  overtook  him  he  dropped  his  workman's  tools, 
and  sank  unconscious  into  the  bosom  of  mother  earth.  Sometimes, 
his  very  friends  have  not  taken  the  trouble  to  count  and  reckon  up  his 
effects,  and  only  the  tardy  justice  of  posterity  has  been  able  to  gather 
up  the  precious  tokens  and  place  them  in  the  pantheon  of  art.  So 
was  it  with  Bach,  and  Schubert  ;  and  so  almost  with  Schumann  and 
Berlioz. 

Yet  in  one  way  this  force  has  operated  upon  musical  development, 
and  that  in  great  power;  namely,  in  the  extinction  of  other  forms  of 
art,  leaving  almost  the  \\  .ioie  ideality  of  several  generations  to  seek  ex- 


122  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

pression  through  music.  This  comes  out  plainly  enough  in  the  dates. 
Michael  Angelo  and  Raphael  were  nearly  two  hundred  years  before 
Bach  and  Handel.  Dante  was  two  centuries  earlier  still.  Shakespeare 
was  a  hundred  years  earlier  than  Bach.  Thus  Bach,  Handel  and 
Beethoven  had  the  stage  to  themselves  for  a  century,  during  which 
there  was  no  absolutely  great  master  in  any  other  form  of  art.  In  this 
way  the  world  gained  leisure  to  attend  to  music  ;  and  so  it  has  been 
since,  for  during  the  last  century  there  has  never  been  a  genius  of  the 
highest  order  outside  of  music.  Thus,  what  music  could  do,  as  music, 
we  must  learn  for  the  most  part  in  the  works  of  Bach,  Haydn,  Mozart, 
Beethoven,  and  Schumann.  And  in  the  very  same  works,  also,  we 
must  measure  its  value  as  a  form  of  art  and  an  expression  of  the  ideal. 
And  this  has  been  our  labor  in  these  studies  hitherto.  We  now  come 
to  the  point  where  we  must  enter  upon  the  historical  and  practical 
study  of  the  relation  of  music  to  poetry,  and  of  the  manner  and  extent 
of  the  action  of  poetry  upon  it.  The  subject  is  a  very  large  one,  and 
for  full  handling  takes  us  over  wide  lapses  of  time  and  a  considerable 
range  of  topics.  In  general,  however,  we  shall  obtain  a  fair  idea  of 
the  course  of  this  development  if  we  attend  carefully  to  the  observa- 
tions following. 

In  the  union  of  poetry  and  music,  both  sides  have  to  make  im- 
portant concessions.  These  are  of  so  serious  and  so  vital  a  character 
that,  speaking  in  a  broad  sense,  we  might  say  that  both  poetry  and 
music  must  needs  sacrifice  their  most  eminent  qualities,  as  poetry  and 
music  respectively,  in  order  to  successfully  unite  themselves  in  the 
complex  utterance  of  song.  We  are  already,  to  some  extent,  pre- 
pared to  understand  this,  by  our  studies  in  Chapter  XXV.  For,  as  we 
there  saw,  the  distinctive  excellencies  of  Poetry  are  its  sense-pictures, 
and  its  power  of  awakening  emotion  by  contrasts  and  collisions  of 
persons,  respectively  living  and  acting  out  the  opposing  principles  be- 
tween which  the  collision  takes  place.  The  highest  poetry,  while 
always  in  sense-forms,  is  peculiarly  and  pre-eminently  intensified  by 
thought. 

The  first  and  perhaps  chief  difficulty  Poetry  has  to  contend  with 
in  uniting  with  music,  is  the  long  time  consumed  by  musical  utterance, 
a  time  from  two  to  six  times  greater  than  speech, — and,  it  may  be 
added,  constantly  increasing  in  the  later  composers,  as  we  see,  for  ex- 
ample, in  Max  Bruch's  Lay  of  the  Bell,  etc.  Almost  any  poetical  pic- 
ture or  scene  runs  through  four  lines,  and  sometimes  through  ten  or 
twenty,  but  as  all  these  lines  do  something  towards  completing  the 
picture,  they  must  all  be  retained  in  the  mind  at  the  same  time.  Ordi- 


THE  INFLUENCE  QF  POETRY  UPON  MUSIC.  133 

nary  reading  passes  so  quickly  as  to  permit  the  mind  to  do  this  with- 
out difficulty.  But  when  this  time  is  spun  out  too  long,  and  especially 
when  the  unity  of  the  description  has  been  destroyed  by  the  inception 
and  completion  of  several  musical  periods  to  one  period  of  words,  the 
pictorial  quality  of  the  poetry  is  lost  in  the  song.  In  like  manner,  the 
very  form  of  musical  utterance  is  fatal  to  the  intelligible  expression  of 
any  kind  of  reasoning,  or  deduction  of  conclusions  from  premises. 
Not  even  Beethoven  would  be  able  to  set  to  music  successfully  such  a 
passage  as  Portia's  Plea  for  Mercy,  in  "The  Merchant  of  Venice." 
Music,  as  we  well  know,  is  the  expression  of  feeling;  when  poetry  be- 
comes directly  expressive  of  emotion  it  becomes  musical — provided 
only  that  its  feeling  is  not  outside  of  or  contrary  to  music.  Thus 
when  hate,  revenge,  or  remorse  are  the  feelings  seeking  expression  in 
the  words,  music  can  do  nothing  to  aid  them,  for  they  are  in  their 
essence  contrary  to  music,  and  if  at  all  representable  in  sounds,  repre- 
sentable  only  in  harsh  and  hideous  discords.  Yet  even  this  range 
must  not  be  denied  the  opera;  we  can  only  limit  its  recourse  to  such 
extravagant  measures,  to  its  moments  of  brief  and  insuperable  necessity, 
to  be  atoned  for  by  many  a  bar  of  tuneful  penance.  Hence  we  may 
say  in  general  that,  in  order  to  adapt  itself  to  musical  expression, 
Poetry  must  forego  its  reason,  its  long-spun  descriptive  passages,  and, 
to  a  certain  extent,  its  coherence.  Its  pictures  must  become  mere 
outlines,  such  as  a  couple  of  phrases  will  compass;  its  thought  sharp, 
incisive,  terse,  and  never  of  an  abstract  character.  And  it  is  only 
when  it  speaks  directly  the  language  of  the  heart,  that  musical  utter- 
ance becomes  indispensable  to  its  completeness.  A  true  lyric  requires 
music  to  fully  express  it.  Of  such  sort  are  all  true  hymns,  such  as  the 
"Gloria,"  the"  "Te  Deum,"  the  "Venite,"  "Jubilate."  These  without 
the  voice  of  song  are  but  birds  or  angels  without  wings. 

On  the  other  hand,  Music  has  much  to  lose  in  a  direct  union 
with  poetry.  She,  also,  must  part  with  her  coherence  in  long  forms. 
Such  closely  knit  and  legitimately  developed  musical  creations  as  the 
great  organ  fugues  of  Bach,  and  the  sonatas  or  symphonies  of  Bee- 
thoven are  entirely  foreign  to  the  spirit  of  song.  Here  first  music  has  to 
consider  the  compass  and  pitch  of  the  voice,  and  its  effectiveness  in 
different  registers.  One  recalls  here  the  remark  of  the  teacher,  him- 
self a  distinguished  composer,  who,  when  a  pupil  brought  him  an  an- 
them in  which  the  tenor  had  the  words  "Praise  the  Lord"  on  G  below 
middle  C,  crossed  out  the  passage  with  the  remark,  "The  tenor  can 
not  '  praise  the  Lord'  below  middle  C,"  alluding,  of  course,  to  the  non- 
effectiveness  of  the  tenor  voice  at  so  low  a  pitch.  So,  also,  music 


124  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND   MUSIC. 

must  provide  the  singer  with  opportunities  for  breathing,  and  inter- 
ludes for  rest  after  trying  passages.  She  must  not  forget  to 
confine  herself  within  a  practicable  range  of  keys,  for  singers  sing  on 
melodic  principles,  and  no  singer  sings  or  thinks  a  full  score.  These, 
with  many  other  such  like  restrictions,  inhere  in  the  very  nature  of  song, 
and  hamper  the  musical  composer  extremely.  The  old  proverb  says 
that  "necessity  is  the  mother  of  invention";  so  here  the  necessity  of 
finding  compromises  or  mutual  concessions  between  music  and  poetry 
has  at  length  led  to  several  well  defined  types  of  song,  which  differ 
from  each  other  in  the  manner  and  nature  of  the  concessions  made. 
These  are  (1)  Simple  Ballad,  (2)  The  Recitative,  (3)  The  Aria  and 
Scena,  (4)  The  German  Thoroughly  Composed  Song,  (o)  The  Arioso, 
and  (6)  the  union  of  them  all  in  The  Oratorio  and  Opera. 

In  all  these  modes  of  union  there  are,  however,  certain  prin- 
ciples that  remain  constant  and  must  not  be  violated.  These  are  the 
correct  accentuation  and  emphasis  of  the  words,  according  to  the  sense, 
and  the  correspondence  of  the  music  to  the  poetry  in  respect  to  feel- 
ing. All  forms  of  song  must  observe  these  conditions.  To  this  extent, 
at  least,  poetry  is  dominant.  Besides,  the  musical  phrasing  must  be 
made  to  correspond  with  the  grammatical  and  declamatory  necessities 
of  the  text,  and  this  in  all  forms  of  vocal  pieces.  Besides  these,  there 
are  important  variations  in  style, resulting  from  the  greater  or  less  at- 
tention paid  to  the  convenience  of  the  voice.  Thus  Italian  songs,  in 
general,  are  carefully  planned  so  as  to  suit  the  voice,  and  to  require  ef- 
fect only  at  ranges  of  pitch  in  which  effect  is  possible.  Moreover,  this 
entire  school  indulges  itself  less  with  chromatic  and  difficult  modula- 
tions, and  in  general  is  much  less  elaborate,  as  music  merely,  than  the 
German  songs.  The  Italians  consider  the  voice  the  main  thing  in 
singing;  the  Germans  the  idea.  In  thus  ranging  themselves  under 
opposite  principles,  both  parties  fall  short  of  their  goal.  The  German 
ruins  his  song  for  actual  delivery,  by  placing  it  badly  for  the  voice. 
This  appears  continually  in  Bach,  and  Schumann,  and  frequently  in 
other  writers.  The  Italian's  method  of  work,  on  the  other  hand,  pro- 
duces a  composition  in  which  the  voice  makes  an  agreeable  effect;  so 
that  these  works  are  cherished  all  the  world  over,  as  the  most  conveni- 
ent show-pieces  for  singers.  Nevertheless  he  works  within  so  narrow 
musical  limits  as  seriously  to  impair  the  value  of  his  pieces  from  the 
musical  side.  And  in  general  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  even  the 
best  Italian  music  sounds  thin  and  unsatisfactory  when  compared  with 
the  best  German  music;  while  the  common  run  of  Italian  work  is  thin 
indeed. 


THE   SIMPLE  BALLAD.  125 

Yet,  after  all,  the  Italian  certainly  has  the  advantage  in  the  matter 
of  taste,  and  we  find  in  the  productions  of  such  writers  as  Rossini,  Bel- 
lini, Donizetti  and  Mercadante,  as  well  as  in  the  simple  canteleni  of 
less  noted  composers,  a  grace  and  elegance  of  style  which,  since  Gliick 
and  Mozart,  is  no  longer  to  be  found  in  German  song. 


LESSON    THIRTY-SEVENTH. 

THE  SIMPLE  BALLAD. 

The  nearest  example  of  the  union  of  poetry  and  music  is  afforded 
by  the  simple  ballad.  Musically  considered  it  consists  of  a  symmetri- 
cally balanced  and  pleasing  melody,  of  a  quiet  character,  with  words 
easily  enjoyed  by  the  common  people.  In  this  form  of  composition  the 
melody  is  of  the  foremost  importance,  and  in  very  many  cases  was  first 
composed,  and  the  words  afterwards  written  to  fit.  As  a  rule,  both 
words  and  music  are  pleasing,  quiet,  popular,  and  but  a  shade  removed 
from  the  commonplace.  Examples  of  this  class  are  practically  innu- 
merable. We  may  begin  with  almost  any  specimen.  Let  it  be  Dr. 
Geo.  F.  Root's  "  Brooklet,"  from  the  "  Curriculum."  (Plays  and  sings.) 
Another  example  is  "Joys  that  we've  tasted,"  adapted  to  an  Irish 
melody.  (Plays  and  sings.)  Other  examples  are  the  two  by  Mr.  Root 
so  popular  many  years  ago,  "  The  Hazel  Dell "  and  "  Rosalie,  the 
Prairie  Flower."  (Sings  "Hazel  Dell.")  This  class  also  includes  many 
songs  of  a  sad  and  mournful  temperament  (as  well  as  many  sadly  poor 
ones),  such  as  "  Pass  Under  the  Rod,"  Mr.  Root's  "  Vacant  Chair," 
Miss  Linsay's  "  Resignation,"  etc. 

Of  the  same  kind  is  Claribel's  "  O  many  a  time  I  am  sad  at  heart." 
(Sings.)  The  life  of  this  song  is  mainly  in  its  words.  This  was  not  so 
much  the  case  in  the  earlier  American  songs  of  the  same  class,  as  is 
shown  by  the  continual  popularity  of  the  music  in  cotillons,  quadrilles, 
etc.,  after  the  words  have  been  forgotten.  This  was  also  the  case  with 
Mr.  Stephen  C.  Foster's  "  Uncle  Ned"  and  "  Massa's  in  the  Cold,  Cold 
Ground,"  "Old  Folks  at  Home,"  etc.  In  all  of  these  the  distinguishing 
feature  was  the  agreeable  and  easily-remembered  melody.  Another 
example,  depending  partly  on  its  words  and  partly  on  its  music  for  a 
deserved  popularity  is  Claribel's  "  Five  o'clock  in  the  Morning." 
(Sings.)  In  this  the  music  takes  a  wider  range  of  harmonies  than  in 


126  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

any  of  the  American  examples  referred  to.  In  Claribel's  "  Come  Back 
to  Erin"  we  have  a  still  more  unmistakable  example  of  a  purely  musical 
interest  and  that  mainly  in  the  melody.  This  melody  has  been  sung 
and  played,  varied  and  arranged,  all  over  the  English-speaking  world. 
(Sings.) 

The  apparent  depth  and  meaning  of  these  songs  are  very  much  in- 
creased when  the  words  are  deliberately  and  clearly  spoken,  and  the  mel- 
ody delivered  with  artistic  emphasis.  An  example  of  this  was  afforded 
by  Nillsen's  singing  of  "Old  Folks  at  Home"  in  her  American  concerts, 
and  in  the  practice  of  the  popular  singers  in  London,  as  well  as  Mme. 
Parepa-Rosa's  "  Five  o'clock  in  the  Morning,"  etc.  Such  a  delivery 
would  lend  dignity  and  worth  to  any  air,  however  empty.  It  is  the  re- 
sult of  thorough  control  of  the  voice  and  extended  experience  in  the 
delivery  of  every  kind  of  song. 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  The  Brooklet,  by  Dr.  Geo.  F.  Root,  "  Curriculum. 

2.  Joys  that  We've  Tasted. 

3.  Hazel  Dell.    Dr.  Geo.  F.  Root. 

4.  Pass  under  the  Rod. 

5.  The  Vacant  Chair.    Root. 

6.  Resignation.     Miss  Linsay. 

7.  O  Many  a  Time  I  am  Sad  at  Heart.     Claribel. 

8.  Five  o'Clock  in  the  Morning.     Claribel. 

9.  Come  Back  to  Erin.     Claribel. 


LESSON     THIRTY-EIGHTH. 

RECITATIVE. 

Our  second  type  of  song  is  one  in  which,  cleaily,  the  text  receives 
primary  consideration.  By  Recitative  is  meant  a  form  of  song  to  which 
the  text  is  set  to  musical  pitch  and  cadence,  but  not  to  a  definite  speed, 
rhythm,  or  in  lyrically-adjusted  phrases.  In  this  form  of  song  it  is  the 
sole  task  of  the  music  to  afford  an  impressive  and  suitable  delivery  of 
the  words.  In  plain  recitative  the  accompaniment  consists  only  of  sim- 
ple chords.  Of  all  writers,  Handel  was  at  times  particularly  fortunate 
in  his  recitatives,  and  nowhere  more  so  than  in  the  "  Messiah."  Observe 
the  dignity  of  the  following:  (Plays  and  sings  the  recitative  "  Behold  a 


RECITATIVE.  127 

virgin  shall  conceive,"  from  "Messiah.")  And  this:  (Plays  and  sings 
"Then  shall  the  eyes  of  the  blind  be  opened,"  also  from  the  "Mes- 
siah.") 

This  form  of  song  admits  of  great  pathos.  Handel  affords  a  great 
example  in  the  tenor  recitative  "  Thy  rebuke  hath  broken  his  heart." 
(Sings  it.)  In  this  the  melodic  cadences  are  extremely  clever,  and 
will  be  the  subject  of  remark  presently.  Measured  recitative  differs 
from  the  plain,  in  having  a  measured  accompaniment,  and  hence  in  re- 
quiring of  the  voice  at  least  an  approximate  adherance  to  the  measure. 
In  one  instance  Handel  has  contrasted  these  two  methods  with  fine 
effect.  Thus  in  the  "  Messiah"  we  find  the  plain  recitative  "  There  were 
shepherds  abiding  in  the  field."  This  is  followed  by  a  measured 
recitative  to  the  words  "Andlo!  the  angel  of  the  Lord  came  upon 
them."  And  this,  again,  by  the  plain  recitative  "And  the  angel 
said  unto  them."  And  this,  again,  by  the  measured  recitative  "And 
suddenly  there  was  with  the  angel."  (Sings  the  two  measured  recita- 
tives first,  and  afterward  the  four  in  succession.)  One  of  the  most 
beautiful  examples  of  measured  recitative  is  found  in  the  opening  num- 
ber of  the  "  Messiah,"  "  Comfort  ye,  my  people."  (Sings.) 

In  all  these  examples  the  music  is  determined  in  the  effort  to  fur- 
nish suitable  expression  to  the  words.  To  recur  to  an  example  already 
given,  consider  "Thy  rebuke  hath  broken  his  heart. "  The  very  first 
upward  inflection  on  the  word  "rebuke,"  and  the  downward  sweep  of 
the  octave  in  "hath  broken  his  heart,"  are  extremely  impressive.  So, 
again,  when  the  words  come  "but  there  was  no  man,"  the  emphasis 
falls  on  the  last  word";  but  when  the  same  words  are  repeated  the 
emphasis  falls  on  "  was." 

In  many  instances  the  phrases  of  recitative  are  interspersed  or  in- 
tercalated between  descriptive  phases  of  the  accompaniment.  Of  this 
we  have  many  examples  in  Haydn's  "  Creation."  So  we  have  it  in 
Raphael's  "Now  furious  storms  tempestuous  rage,"  which  is  preceded 
by  the  storm  in  the  orchestra.  And  so  successively  are  set  "As  chaff 
by  the  winds  are  impelled  the  clouds,"  "By  heaven's  fire  the  sky 
is  inflamed,"  "And  awful  thunders  are  rolling  on  high,"  etc.  This 
plan  of  structure  suggests  the  Apostolic  practice  of  afterward  inter- 
preting the  prophecies  just  delivered  in  unknown  tongues.  In  the 
same  way  is  treated  "In  splendor  bright."  (Sings.) 

Perhaps  the  most  insignificant  form  of  recitative  is  that  where  the 
voice  recites  on  a  monotone  while  the  orchestra  pursues  a  measured 
melody.  In  this  case,  of  course,  the  text  is  little  if  at  all  considered. 
A  convenient  example  of  this  is  afforded  by  a  passage  in  Ambroise 


128  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

Thomas's  well-known  song  from  "  Mignon,"  "  Know'st  thou  the  land," 
where  a  difficult  and  unmusical  part  of  the  text  is  treated  in  this 
way.  Here,  indeed,  it  is  managed  with  real  art,  since  it  but  serves 
to  intensify  the  climax  that  follows.  (Sings  Mignon's  song.)  The 
musical  structure  of  recitative  is  necessarily  coherent,  else  it  could 
not  be  sung.  But  it  does  not  return  upon  itself  in  lyrically-arranged 
phrases. 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  "Behold  a  virgin  shall  conceive."     No.  7  of  Handel's  "  Messiah." 

2.  "  Then  shall  the  eyes  of  the  blind  be  opened."     No.  17,  the  same. 

3.  "Thy  rebuke  hath  broken  his  heart."     No.  27,  the  same. 

4.  "There  were  shepherds  abiding  in  the  field."     No.  14. 

5.  "  Comfort  ye,  my  people."     No.  1,  the  same. 

6.  "And  God  made  the  firmament."     No.  4,  "Creation." 

7.  "  In  splendor  bright."    No.  13,  "  Creation." 

8.  Mignon's  song  from  the  Opera  of  "  Mignon,"  by  Ambroise  Thomas. 


LESSON  THIRTY-NINE. 

THE  ARIA  AND  SCENA. 

The  aria  is  a  regularly  developed  musical  form.  Its  text  is  usu- 
ally meagre.  In  the  older  works  it  consists  of  but  a  single  couplet,  or 
at  most  of  but  two  or  three.  The  music  seizes  the  emotional  content  of 
the  text,  and  repeats  it  over  and  over,  builds  out  of  it,  intensifies  it  in 
many  ways.  Examples  are  innumerable.  Let  us  begin  with  Bach's 
"My  heart  ever  faithful."  (Sings.)  In  this  we  have,  first  and  foremost, 
good  music.  And  this  also  is  elaborated  out  of  very  few  motives. 
The  first  phrase  returns  with  the  persistence  of  a  rondo.  In  the  in- 
termediate couplets,  which  serve  for  episodes,  the  words  are  broken  in 
two,  the  syllables  separated,  and  elocutionary  proprieties  violated 
with  impunity.  Yet  it  is  an  extremely  enjoyable  piece  of  music.  In 
this  case  we  see  plainly  that  music  has  given  up  little  of  its  own. 

Of  the  same  kind  is  Handel's  "Oh  had  I  Jubal's  lyre,"  except  that 
here  there  is  an  evident  pleasure  in  providing  agreeable  passages  for  the 
voice,  which,  however,  are  in  very  good  keeping  with  the  emotional 
stand-point  of  the  song.  (Sings.)  In  other  cases  the  text  is  treated 
more  seriously,  as  in  Handel's  "He  shall  feed  his  flock,"  and  "How 
beautiful  are  the  feet."  (Sings.)  In  both  these,  as  indeed  in  the  pre- 


THE  ARIA  AND   SCENA.  l^g 

vious  examples,  we  have  consistently  developed  musical  creations, 
which  in  point  of  form  are  the  same  as  the  gavottes,  sarabands,  etc. 
of  the  ancient  binary  order.  In  respect  to  musical  development  they 
partake  somewhat  of  the  spirit  of  the  thematic,  since  the  leading 
motives  are  often  repeated,  transformed,  presented  with  various  har- 
monies, modulated  into  new  keys,  etc.,  in  a  manner  very  different 
from  what  we  find  in  the  simple  ballad. 

The  aria  is  also  capable  of  being  applied  to  descriptive  purposes. 
Of  this  we  have  two  very  pretty  examples  in  Haydn's  "Creation,"  in 
the  well-known  soprano  songs  "With  verdure  clad,"  and  "On  mighty 
pens."  (Sings,  both,  if  convenient.)  The  descriptive  part,  it  will  be 
observed,  is  in  the  accompaniment  rather  than  in  the  vocal  phrases. 

Mozart  imparted  to  the  aria  the  simplicity  and  grace  of  the  peo- 
ple's song,  and  at  the  same  time  contrived  for  the  most  part  to  remain 
true  to  the  spirit  of  his  text.  Some  of  these  songs  are  of  the  most  ex- 
quisite character,  as  for  example, "  Vedrai  Carino "  and  "Batti,  Batti" 
sung  by  Zerlina  in  "Don  Giovanni."  Of  the  same  kind  is  the  tenor 
aria  "II  mio  tesoro  "  in  that  opera.  Another  one  of  the  same  sort  is 
"Porgi  amor"  in  Mozart's  "Figaro."  In  "Dove  sono"  of  the  same 
opera,  we  have  a  more  varied  treatment.  An  adagio,  first  part, 
changes  to  an  allegro,  closing  part.  (Let  any  of  these  be  sung  that 
can  be  conveniently  produced.  It  does  not  particularly  matter  which, 
since  all  manifest  in  general  the  same  traits.) 

Another  famous  example  of  the  aria  is  Beethoven's  well-known 
song,  "Adelaide."*  (Sings.)  This  song  is  a  fully  developed  piece  of 
instrumental  music,  in  which  the  voice  is  treated  from  a  musical 
standpoint,  merely,  as  if  it  were  a  violin  or  'cello. 

In  Italian  opera  we  have  various  kinds  of  aria,  all,  however,  hav- 
ing the  quality  of  adaptation  to  the  voice.  In  these  the  well-sound- 
ing, the  effective,  the  astonishing,  the  tuneful,  are  the  chief  points  of 
concern.  Thus  in  Bellini's  "Norma"  we  have  the  lovely  "Costa  Diva," 
an  air  which  is  now  out  of  style,  and  is  indeed  somewhat  wanting  in 
heart  when  compared  with  those  of  Mozart,  but  which,  nevertheless, 
is  tuneful  and  refined,  and,  when  well  done,  an  extremely  pretty  piece 
of  singing.  (Sings.)  In  Bellini's  "  Sonnambula"  we  have  a  similar 
song,  "Ah  non  Credea"  and,  at  the  close,  the  famous  war-horse  of 
prima  donnas,  "Ah  non  giunge"  where  the  voice  becomes  a  mere  in- 
strument of  rejoicing,  and  the  text  as  such  is  very  little  regarded. 

Again  there  is  the  scena,  or  scene,  to  be  taken  into  account;  a 
composition  in  which  recitative,  arioso,  and  aria  alternate  according 

*The  pronunciation  required  by  the  must  c  is  ad-el-a-ee'-de. 
9 


130  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

to  the  fancy  of  the  composer,  in  order  to  meet  unusual  transitions  in 
the  text.  Examples  of  this  are  found  in  the  great  dramatic  scene  for 
soprano  in  Weber's  "Oberon,"  "Ocean,  thou  mighty  monster,"  and  in 
"Der  Freyschutz,"  where  the  prayer  occurs.  In  these  the  fullest  re- 
sources of  the  orchestra  are  unsparingly  employed  to  paint  the  dra- 
matic situation 

Throughout  all  forms  of  the  aria,  the  music  is  consistently  devel- 
oped, as  music.  The  general  spirit  of  the  text  is  seized  and  repre- 
sented, but  no  effort  is  made  to  represent  merely  transitory  shades  of 
feeling,  except  in  descriptive  arias.  When  this  is  done  it  naturally 
deprives  the  aria  of  its  power  to  absorb  and  carry  along  the  listener, 
because  such  a  lingering  on  separate  ideas  precludes  attention  to  any 
single,  grand,  overmastering  impulse  of  feeling;  and  this  is  what  the 
aria  has  for  its  fundamental  design  to  express.  It  is  to  be  observed 
further  of  the  examples  here  referred  to,  that  they  are  all  from  master- 
works,  by  great  composers,  and  are,  for  the  most  part,  the  chief  arias  in 
the  works  in  question.  They  represent,  therefore,  the  highest  con- 
ception of  song  in  this  direction,  and  for  their  adequate  interpretation 
demand  exceptional  voices,  thoroughly  trained,  and  musical  endow- 
ments of  high  order.  Nevertheless,  an  inferior  presentation  of 
them  will  serve  to  familiarize  one  with  their  phraseology  and  mode 
of  treatment.  Only,  if  they  fail  of  effect  in  such  presentation,  it  must 
be  remembered  that  they  are  really  great  works,  and  require  to  be 
heard  many  times. 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  "My  heart  ever  faithful,"  Bach. 

2.  "O,  had  I  Jubal's  lyre!"  Handel. 
8.  "He  shall  feed  his  flock,"  Handel. 

4  "How  beautiful  are  the  feet."  Handel. 

5.  "With  verdure  clad,"  from  the  "Creation,*1  Haydn. 

6.  "On  mighty  pens,"  Haydn. 

7.  "Vedrai  Carino,"  irom  "Don  Giovanni,"  Mozart. 

8.  "Batti,  Batti,"  from  "Don  Giovanni,"  Mozart. 

9.  "II  mio  tesoro,"  from  "Don  Giovanni,"  Mozart. 

10.  "Dove  sono,"  from  "Figaro,"  Mozart. 

11.  "Porgi  amor,"  from  "Figaro,"  Mozart. 

12.  "Voi  che  sapete,"  from  "Figaro,"  Mozart. 

13.  "Adelaide,"  tenor  song,  Beethoven. 

14.  "Casta  Diva,"  from  "Norma,"  Bellini. 

15.  "Ah  non  Credea,"  Bellini. 

16.  "Ah  non  giunge,"  "Sonnambula,"  Bellini. 

17.  "Ocean,  thou  mighty  monster,"  from  "Oberon,"  Weber. 


THE  THOROUGHLY  COMPOSED  SONG. 


LESSON     FOETY. 

THE  THOROUGHLY  COMPOSED  SONG. 

The  simple  ballad  and  the  aria  have  this  in  common,  that  they 
both  strive  first  for  a  symmetrically  returning  lyric  melody.  Each 
ballad  or  aria  represents  on  the  whole  a  particular  phase  of  emotion, 
or  state  of  feeling,  from  which  no  wide  departure  is  made  throughout 
the  song.  In  the  ballad  this  arises  from  the  necessity  of  repeating  all 
the  stanzas  of  the  words  to  the  same  melody;  and  in  the  aria  it  is  a 
natural  consequence  of  the  paucity  of  words.  An  aria  although  fre- 
quently extended  to  six  or  eight  or  ten  periods,  rarely  has  more  than 
two  or  three  couplets  of  words.  Thus,  in  placing  the  emphasis  upon 
the  music,  rather  than  upon  the  text,  both  ballad  and  aria  display  a 
decided  congeniality  of  spirit.  The  aria  is  a  ballad,  magnified  or  exalted 
to  meet  more  important  demands. 

We  come  now  to  the  study  of  a  form  of  song  which  we  owe  chiefly 
to  Schubert  and  Schumann,  in  which  the  text  and  music  receive  almost 
equal  consideration,  yet  in  such  a  way  as  to  afford  every  part  of  the  text 
a  legitimate  musical  expression.  This  necessarily  includes  the  idea  of 
a  spontaneous  musical  activity  in  the  music,  for  as  soon  as  it  ceases  to 
be  free  in  its  movement,  it  ceases  to  be  expressive.  The  Germans  call 
it  the  durchcomponirte  Lied,  or  "song  composed  throughout."  As 
there  is  no  English  equivalent  of  this  expression  in  use,  the  title  here 
employed  is  "thoroughly  composed  song;"  and  the  meaning  is  that 
every  stanza  of  the  song  has  its  own  music,  different  from  the  others, 
and  suited  to  the  peculiar  needs  of  the  words.  Unity  is  subserved  by 
a  return  of  the  first  stanza,  or  of  something  very  like  it,  in  the  form  of  a 
refrain. 

We  get  something  of  this  in  the  earlier  songs  of  Schubert,  as  the 
"  Miller  "  songs.  But  it  is  in  the  grand  ballad  of  the  "  Erl  King  "  that 
we  have  one  of  the  most  shining  examples.  This  ballad  contains  five 
speakers,  the  narrator,  the  boy,  the  Erl  King  and  Erl  King's  daughter, 
and  the  father.  Although  the  singer  represents  them  all,  each  one  has 
a  particular  form  of  expression.  Thus  the  narrator  has  a  plain  figure 
accompanied  by  that  wonderful  figure  of  repeating  octaves.  The  father 
speaks  in  a  low  voice;  the  son  in  a  higher  one,  and  with  more  wildness. 


132  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

The  Erl-King's  daughter  speaks  caressingly,  and  this,  also,  the  accompa- 
niment intensifies.  When  the  boy  is  touched  by  the  Erl-King,  he  cries 
out  with  terror,  and  always  a  semitone  sharp  of  the  accompaniment. 
This  is  a  touch  of  realism.  Considered  merely  as  music  this  piece  is  one 
of  the  most  remarkable  examples  of  the  romantic  school;  it  has  been 
very  popular  in  instrumental  arrangements.  But  it  is  plain  to  see  that 
the  music  has  derived  its  most  important  suggestions  from  the  words. 
(Sings.) 

Another  example,  equally  fine  in  its  way,  though  not  so  diversified, 
is  found  in  Schubert's  "  Gretchen  at  the  spinning  wheel."  In  this  we 
have  the  monotonous  whirling  of  the  wheel,  the  sadness  of  Marguerite 
after  meeting  Faust,  her  dreams  of  love,  and  her  fears  she  will  never 
see  him  again,  and  especially  the  very  effective  climax  at  the  word 
"kiss."  (Sings.) 

Schumann  effects  a  still  closer  union  between  the  text  ana  the 
music.  Indeed  we  might  say  that  Schumann's  genius  consisted  in  his 
preternatural  quickness  in  thinking  music,  and  his  intuitive  realization 
of  the  true  relation  between  music  and  emotion.  Among  the  greatest  of 
his  songs  are  the  six  called  "Woman's  Love  and  Life."  These  are  by 
no  means  of  equal  merit.  Perhaps  the  very  choicest  is  "  He,  the  best  of 
all,  the  noblest,"  in  which  the  maiden  tells  the  virtues  of  her  love. 
This  song  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  that  exist.  The  interest  of  it 
is  not  in  the  vocal  part  alone.  The  melody  is  very  far  from  com- 
pleting itself  within  the  usual  lyric  limits.  The  first  period  closes  with 
a  half-cadence  into  the  dominant,  and  the  subject  is  completed  by  the 
piano  alone.  The  harmony  is  extremely  fresh  and  varied.  The  princi- 
pal motive  appears  in  many  forms,  and  modulations  are  unsparingly 
employed.  Yet  the  song  as  a  whole  has  a  warmth,  a  vitality,  an  onward 
sweep,  such  as  is  hardly  anywhere  else  to  be  found  in  a  song.  And 
especially  the  music  is  remarkably  true  to  the  text.  (Sings.) 

The   next   one   gives  us   a  different   phase  of  the  woman's  heart. 

"  Tis  true,  I  can  not  believe  it, 
A  dream  doth  my  senses  enthrall," 

After  this  follows  the  charming  piece 

"  Thou  ring  upon  my  fingei 
Thou  dear  little  golden  ring." 

a  song  little  if  at  all  inferior  to  the  great  one  before-mentioned. 
(Sings.) 

The  entire  Schumann  nature  is  to  be  found  in  his  songs.  One 
phase  of  it,  although  not  strictly  belonging  here,  we  may  characterize  as 


THE  THOROUGHLY  COMPOSED  SONG.  133 

the  tender  and  deep.  It  is  illustrated  by  the  lovely  little  piece  "  Moon- 
light." (Sings.) 

Again  in  "  Waldesgesprdch "  (Woodland  Dialogue),  we  have 
another  example  of  a  dual  personality  expressed  by  means  of  a  change 
of  style  in  the  music.  There  are  two  speakers,  the  knight  and  the 
sorceress  "  Loreley."  The  knight  speaks  in  a  quick,  martial  motive; 
Loreley  in  more  gentle  accents  and  to  a  harp-like  accompaniment. 
(Sings!) 

There  is  another  form  of  song  nearly  allied  to  these,  called  Arioso. 
By  this  is  meant  an  aria-like  form,  which  may  be  either  a  small  and  less 
intense  aria,  or  a  piece  in  which  lyric  phrases  do  not  complete  themselves 
by  sequences  and  tonality  into  regular  period  forms.  But  instead 
thereof,  the  melody  closely  follows  the  words,  and  the  periods  are 
lengthened,  shortened,  modulated  into  other  keys,  or  completed  in  any 
way  that  the  feeling  of  the  words  seem  to  require.  Mendelssohn  uses 
the  term  arioso  to  denote  a  small  and  less  complete  aria.  In  this  sense 
we  have  in  St.  Paul  the  arioso,  "  But  the  Lord  is  mindful  of  His  own." 
(Sings.)  Wagner  is  the  great  exponent  of  this  form  of  writing.  He  has 
employed  it  with  the  greatest  freedon,  and,  it  maybe  added,  with  great 
propriety  and  beauty.  A  lovely  example  is  Elsa's  balcony  song  in 
"Lohengrin."  (Sings.) 

The  thoroughly  composed  song  and  the  arioso  represent  the  latest 
advance  in  the  union  of  music  and  poetry.  As  suggested  in  the  Chap. 
XXXVI,  both  music  and  poetry  have  something  to  sacrifice  in  the  union. 
If  we  attend  closely  to  the  texts  of  these  later  songs  we  shall  find  that 
the  unmusical  elements  of  poetry  have  been  eliminated,  and  that  the 
words  now  express  sentiments  congenial  to  music.  On  first  sight  the 
music  seems  to  have  retained  its  qualities  better.  But  if  we  examine 
these  later  songs  and  arioso-pieces  we  shall  find  that  clearness  and 
definiteness  of  form  have  nearly  departed  from  the  music.  The  period- 
forms  are  so  vague,  and  the  modulations  into  so  remote  keys,  and  occur 
so  frequently  ("  near  and  far,"  as  the  song  has  it)  that  it  requires  a 
special  training  in  the  most  recent  music  in  order  to  really  enjoy  them 
when  heard  as  instrumental  music  merely.  If  such  works  are  to  be 
enjoyed,  it  is  only  when  the  voice  and  musical  qualities  of  the  singer 
have  been  cultivated  to  an  extent  adequate  to  these  demands,  and  are 
emploved  in  subjection  to  a  strongly  conceived  and  truly  dramatic  in- 
terpretation of  the  text.  They  require  much  more  of  a  singer  than  the 
famous  "voice,  voice,  toujours  Voice." 

Of  the  same  general  nature  as  the  thoroughly  composed  song  is  the 
JEJnsemble,  an  important  form  in  opera.  The  ensemble  stands  at  that 


134  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

point  in  the  drama  where  certain  opposing  principles  have  been  intro- 
duced in  the  personages  representing  them,  and  here  they  are  all 
brought  upon  the  stage  together.  The  problem  for  the  composer  to 
solve  is  to  unite  these  contradictory  impulses  in  the  performance  (or, 
as  it  seems  on  the  stage,  production)  of  a  consistent  and  satisfactory 
piece  of  music,  without  causing  the  persons  to  violate  their  own  indi- 
vidual characters  and  dispositions.  In  the  nature  of  the  case  this  prob- 
lem is  impossible  of  solution.  For  although  a  certain  amount  of  indi- 
viduality in  the  different  parts  of  an  ensemble  piece  can  well  enough 
be  attained  by  skillful  use  of  counterpoint,  it  remains  certain  that  no 
piece  produces  a  coherent  impression,  that  does  not  present  some  lead- 
ing idea,  and  therein  a  dominant  emotion,  which  of  course  can  not  be 
done  without  practically  extinguishing  at  least  a  considerable  part  of  the 
opposing  element.  Many  beautiful  ensemble  pieces  are  to  be  found  in 
opera.  In  some  the  librettist  has  simplified  the  matter  by  leaving  out 
the  contradictions.  In  others  the  most  antagonistic  persons  alternate 
with  each  other  and  presently  join  in  as  soprano  and  second,  like  society 
women  who  kiss  in  public  and  back-bite  in  private,  and  the  music  of 
the  whole  goes  not  as  the  text  goes,  but  as  the  composer  would  have 
it.  Wagner  has  attempted  to  meet  this  difficulty  in  other  ways,  as  we 
shall  see  later.  Some  of  the  best  ensemble  pieces  are  to  be  found  in 
Mozart's  operas.  There  is  one  in  "  Figaro  "  which  lasts  forty  minutes 
and  includes  some  eight  or  ten  pieces  of  music.  The  form  is  referred 
to  here  merely  because  it  represents  an  additional  phase  of  vocal  writ- 
ing, the  study  of  which  by  composers  has  been  of  use  in  ascertaining 
how  far  it  is  practicable  to  go  in  music  in  the  simultaneous  represen- 
tation of  opposite  determinations. 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  The  "  Erl  King,"  Schubert. 

2.  "  Gretchen  at  the  Spinning  Wheel,"  Schubert 
8.  "  He,  the  best  of  all,  the  noblest,"  Schumann. 

4.  "Thou  ring  upon  my  finger,"  Schumann. 

5.  "  Moonlight."  Schumann. 

6.  "  Waldesgesprach,"  Schumann. 

7.  "  But  the  Lord  is  mindful  of  His  own,"  from  "  St.  Paul,"  Mendelssohn. 

S.  "  Elsa's  balcony  song,"  '-Ye  Wandering  Breezes"  from  "Lohengrin,"  Wagner, 


THE  OPERA  AND  ORATORIO.  135 


LESSON     FOETY-ONE. 

THE  OPERA  AND  ORATORIO. 

Oratorio,  as  is  well  known,  is  a  musical  work  for  solo  voices,  chorus, 
and  orchestra,  on  a  sacred  subject.  It  is  sung  without  action,  although 
the  text  is  conceived  in  a  dramatic  spirit  if  not  strictly  in  dramatic 
form.  Of  dialogue  oratorio  has  very  little  if  any.  The  nearest  ap- 
proach to  it  is  in  passages  where  an  angel  or  other  speaker  delivers  a 
message  and  a  reply  is  made,  but  this  is  rare.  The  text  deals  with 
the  large,  the  heroic  or  religious  interests,  and  not  with  those  of  every 
day  life.  Indeed,  oratorio  was  in  the  beginning  an  actual  part  of  re- 
ligious service.  This  was  so  with  Bach's  church  cantatas,  and  the  Pas- 
sion Music. 

Handel's  oratorios  were  essentially  concert  works.  As  we  shall 
see  hereafter  (in  Chapter  XLIII),  Handel  composed  operas  for  some 
forty  years  before  he  began  to  write  oratorios,  and  during  most  of  that 
time  had  his  own  singers  and  theater.  So,  when  actuated  by  some 
fortunate  instinct,  or  by  the  neglect  of  the  public,  he  began  to  write 
oratorio,  he  changed  his  style  of  composition  but  very  little.  The  use 
of  an  English  text,  the  vernacular  of  his  audience,  no  doubt  had  a 
certain  tendency  to  increase  his  verbal  accuracy  in  adapting  his  music 
to  it.  But  such  airs  as  "0  had  I  Jubal's  lyre"  from  "Joshua,"  and 
"  Rejoice  greatly  "  from  the  "  Messiah"  are  almost  exactly  of  the  same 
cut  as  the  bravoura  arias  in  his  innumerable  operas.  So,  also,  very 
many  of  the  smaller  choruses  are  revamped  from  some  of  his  former 
works. 

Still,  when  all  this  has  been  said,  the  difference  between  Handel's 
oratorios  and  his  operas  is  very  great;  not  so  much  in  exceptional 
moments  as  in  the  average  of  the  oratorio,  which  is  on  a  higher  and 
more  serious  level  than  the  opera.  Then,  too,  between  Handel's  opera- 
music  and  his  text  there  was  often  a  certain  contradiction,  or  at  least 
what  seems  to  be  such  in  our  day.  The  contrapuntal  spirit  was  the 
habit  of  Handel's  musical  thought,  and  this  spirit  in  its  essential  nature 
is  suited  to  grave  and  elevated  discourse.  So  when  Handel  fell  into 
the  sacred  vein,  it  was  not  so  much  a  change  of  style,  a  conversion,  or 


136  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

a  rising  to  a  new  plane  of  work,  as  a  choice,  fortunate  though  somewhat 
late,  of  a  text  suitable  to  the  nature  of  his  musical  phantasy. 

Yet  when  this  change  was  made  and  the  sacred  words  applied,  and 
all  the  best  and  most  elevated  of  his  previous  efforts  fished  up  from 
their  waters  of  oblivion  and  stood  upon  honest  English  feet  in  march- 
ing order,  like  Ezekiel's  dry  bones,  which,  also,  the  word  of  the  Lord 
had  clothed  upon, — even  then  it  is  but  rarely  sacred  music  that  comes 
to  utterance,  but  concert  music  still;  music  to  attract  and  please,  music 
to  elevate  and  edify; — but  not  music  with  which  to  worship.  To  de- 
monstrate this  position  would  take  us  too  far.  It  must  suffice  here  to 
call  over  the  names  of  some  of  these  works,  leaving  the  student  to  con- 
firm or  overthrow  our  position  at  his  leisure.  They  are  "Solomon," 
"Joshua,"  "Judas  Maccabeus,"  "Israel  in  Egypt,"  "Esther,"  "De- 
borah," "  Susannah,"  "  Theodora,"  etc.  In  some  of  these  he  reaches 
great  heights.  In  particular  is  this  the  case  in  "Israel  in  Egypt" 
where  those  great  double  choruses  must  have  been  inspired  by  some 
idea  of  what  his  great  contemporary  Bach  had  done  at  Leipsic  in  his 
Passions  Music. 

Oratorio  had  at  least  one  other  decided  advantage  for  Handel,  and 
for  the  development  of  music  after  him.  It  put  the  emphasis  on  the 
chorus,  and  not  on  the  solo.  The  operatic  chorus  is  small  at  best.  It 
is  the  peasantry  of  singers  and  must  on  no  account  usurp  a  leading 
interest  in  the  drama.  But  in  music  there  is  a  sense  in  which  the  Latin 
proverb  is  true,  Vox  populi  vox  dei — the  voice  of  the  people  is  the 
voice  of  God. 

These  Handel  choruses  have,  indeed,  a  great  advantage  in  their 
texts,  which  for  the  most  part  are  well-known  passages  of  scripture.  The 
familiar  word  of  some  Biblical  war-cry,  such  as  "  Sing  to  the  Lord,  for 
He  hath  triumphed  gloriously,"  "  Worthy  is  the  Lamb,"  etc.,  awakens 
the  historical  associations  that  belong  to  it ;  these  join  in  with  the  in- 
herent majesty  and  impressiveness  of  the  music,  the  effectiveness  of  its 
instrumentation  and  especially  the  deep,  thrilling,  pervading  support 
of  the  organ,  and  all  combine  in  introducing  music  to  the  public  in  a 
new  light,  that  of  the  sublime. 

Then,  for  once,  it  was  permitted  the  almost  inspired  master  to 
write  with  headlong  haste  all  through  that  blessed  fortnight,  one  great 
work,  which  stands,  and  will  long  stand,  as  a  ne  plus  ultra  of  musical 
effort  in  the  direction  of  the  pathetic,  the  inspiring,  and  the  sublime. 
The  "  Messiah  "  draws  a  part  of  its  impressiveness,  no  doubt,  from  its 
noble  text,  which  traverses  the  entire  range  of  the  most  precious 
religious  associations.  And  this  also  helped  the  composer,  who  here, 


THE   OPERA  AND  ORATORIO.  137 

at  times,  rises  almost  above  himself.  But  to  whatever  source  we  may 
attribute  its  power  over  us,  it  is  certain  that  in  Handel's  "  Messiah  " 
we  have  a  work  without  which  our  idea  of  music  would  be  much  lower 
than  it  is,  and  the  world  would  be  by  much  the  loser. 

In  the  Bach  "  Passions  Music  "  we  have  a  different  work,  and  one 
which  is  decidedly  the  expression  of  worship.  But  of  this  subject 
more  is  said  in  chapter  XLII.  Suffice  it  to  point  out  here  that  oratorio 
is  the  field  in  which  music  has  been  furnished  with  the  occasion  and 
the  means  for  exercising  itself  to  its  farthest  bounds  in  the  direction 
of  the  elevated,  the  heroic,  and  the  sublime. 

Opera  is  of  the  world,  worldly.  And  this  for  two  reasons  :  As  a 
drama  it  deals  with  life,  idealized,  perhaps,  sometimes  made  ludicrous, 
hut  in  any  case  with  life.  Its  trinity  in  unity  is  "the  world,  the  flesh, 
and  the  devil."  We  have  only  to  run  over  the  librettos,  if  we  have 
never  seen  the  pieces  for  ourselves,  to  find  in  almost  every  one  of 
them  "  the  prince  of  this  world"  enthroned.  Read  the  books  of  "  Don 
Giovanni,"  «  Figaro,"  "  Robert  le  Diable,"  "  Faust,"  "  II  Trovatore," 
t:  II  Traviata,"  and  almost  all  the  rest.  Then,  in  the  second  place, 
opera  stands  for  an  amusement.  The  opera  composer  must  meet  his 
public.  They  do  not  go  to  the  play-house  to  hear  sermons,  nor  to 
hing  psalms,  but  to  hear,  to  enjoy,  and  to  be  merry. 

The  opera  is  the  great  field  in  which,  sooner  or  later,  all  worldly 
emotion  comes  to  expression.  As  a  form  of  art  it  is  as  blessed  in 
abundant  means  as  the  oratorio.  For  although  it  lacks  the  massive 
chorus,  it  has  a  larger  number  of  trained  singers,  and  the  advantage  of 
action  and  spontaneous  sympathy  with  the  audience,  as  helps  to  inspi- 
ration. Librettist,  composer,  scene-painter,  and  singers,  all  combine  to 
place  before  us  a  form  of  art  which  has  in  it  every  possible  pleasure  of 
the  senses  of  hearing  and  sight,  and  along  with  this  much  of  a  finer 
and  higher  character. 

From  the  very  nature  of  the  stage  and  the  drama,  opera  was  im- 
possible in  Handel's  day.  The  prophet  and  founder  of  the  modern 
opera,  Gliick,  wrote  his  great  works  more  than  thirty  years  after  Handel 
had  laid  down  his  operatic  pen  forever.  Counterpoint  needed  to  relax 
its  severity  somewhat  in  favor  of  the  weakness  of  the  flesh  in  chamber- 
maids and  valets  upon  the  stage.  Fugue,  also,  might  find  artistic  jus- 
tification in  a  fire,  where  the  first  engine  company  on  the  ground  gave 
out  the  theme,  the  next  answered  it,  etc.,  but  for  guests  at  an  evening 
party  it  is  but  a  tedious  form  of  utterance.  The  opera  needed  the  peo- 
ple's song.  Gliick  took  a  great  step  in  the  true  direction,  and  estab- 
lished the  canons  of  operatic  work.  Mozart  went  beyond  him  ;  and 


138  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

"Weber  beyond  him.  In  "  Der  Freischutz  "  we  have  the  very  peo- 
ple's song  itself. 

Besides  the  people's  song,  opera  needed  the  neat  and  pleasing 
melodic  and  harmonic  forms  of  Haydn  and  Mozart.  With  these  it  be- 
came fully  equipped  in  its  department,  and  went  forth  under  its  cap- 
tains, such  as  Rossini,  Meyerbeer,  Weber,  Bellini,  Donizetti,  Auber, 
Verdi,  and  last  of  'all,  Wagner,  to  conquer  the  world  of  secular 
music. 

In  its  nature  as  a  form  of  drama,  dealing  with  men  of  the 
present  or  the  immediate  past,  who  in  any  case  are  presented  on  the 
stage  as  living  before  us,  and  in  ranging  through  all  varieties  of  plays, 
from  roaring  farce  up  through  comedy  to  heroic  and  elevated  phases 
of  life  (though  these  are  always  given  from  what,  in  stage  parlance,  one 
might  call  the  "  practicable  "  side  as  opposed  to  the  "  impractical  "  of 
oratorio),  the  opera  calls  upon  music  for  every  form  and  phase  of  its 
pleasant  modulation,  all  its  love  and  its  hate,  its  rejoicing  and  its  sor- 
row. And  what  the  voice  can  not  do,  it  offers  to  complete  through  the 
unrivalled  riches  of  the  modern  orchestra;  and  in  every  time  of 
"  trouble,"  where  music,  as  such,  fails  of  power,  it  produces  the 
"  sheep-skin,"  its  diploma  of  powers  yet  unexpended. 

Thus  the  opera  and  oratorio  together  present  us  on  the  whole 
with  every  result  that  has  been  reached  in  the  effort  to  clothe  words 
with  music,  and  are  to  be  reckoned  among  the  highest  achievements 
in  music.  Yet,  even  in  these,  all  that  was  said  in  the  beginning  con- 
cerning the  influence  of  poetry  upon  music  holds  true;  and  all  the 
limitations  of  vocal  music  as  a  form  of  art  are  here  to  be  found  illus- 
trated. We  have  on  one  side  Poetry,  of  which  the  practicable  libretto 
is  but  a  very  small  part.  And  on  the  other  side  Music,  of  which  opera 
and  oratorio  are,  to  be  sure,  a  larger  part,  yet  still  lacking  very  much 
of  the  elevated  sentiment  and  the  epic  sweep  of  pure  music,  as  found 
in  the  symphony.  Nevertheless,  vocal  music  retains  for  itself  two 
great  points  of  merit:  It  is  the  most  understandable  form  of  music, 
for  even  the  unmusical  can  follow  the  words.  And,  second,  through 
the  effort  to  unite  music  to  poetry,  and  to  extend  its  range  to  an 
equal  compass,  the  true  relation  of  music  to  emotion  has  been 
worked  out,  and  instrumental  music  itself  has  gained  in  freedom  of 
form  and  range  of  expression. 


PART  EIGHTH. 


HISTORICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS 
SKETCHES, 


CHAPTEE     FORTY-TWO. 

JOHN  SEBASTIAN  BACH. 

'Across  this  interval  of  nearly  two  centuries  Bach's  life  appears  to 
have  been  very  dull  and  uneventful.  He  was  born  at  Eisenach,  Prus- 
sia, March  21,  1685,  as  Ritter  says,  "  a  musician  of  the  fifth  generation 
of  one  of  the  most  musical  families  ever  produced  by  any  country." 
His  entire  life  passed  in  the  burgher-like  simplicity  of  the  middle  class 
German.  His  mother  died  when  he  was  very  young;  and  before  he  was 
ten  years  old  he  had  lost  his  father  also.  He  then  went  to  his  elder 
brother,  John  Christopher,  organist  at  Ohrdruff,  who  gave  him  his  first 
lessons  in  piano  playing.  Bach  had  scarcely  more  than  made  a  begin- 
ning (which  must  have  been  exceedingly  easy  to  so  gifted  a  nature  as 
his)  when  he  cast  his  covetous  eyes  on  a  paper-bound  volume  contain- 
ing pieces  by  Frohberger,  Kerl,  Pachelbel  and  others.  But  such 
treasures  of  art  were  not  to  be  trusted  to  a  boy  not  yet  twelve  years 
old — at  least  not  if  the  crusty  John  Christopher  could  help  it — so  he 
locked  the  book  in  a  corner  cupboard,  and  gave  himself  no  further 
anxiety  on  the  subject.  But  the  little  John  Sebastian  was  of  a  perse- 
vering kind,  as  we  shall  see  before  we  have  done  with  him,  and  his 
little  hand  proved  able  to  push  through  the  lattice  work  door  and  reach 
the  precious  book.  But  how  to  make  it  his  own.  Why  copy  it,  to  be 
sure.  But  the  awful  John  Christopher  !  "  Do  it  at  night,"  said  the 
tempter.  "  But  I've  no  candles,"  said  the  boy.  "  The  full  moon." 
"  Sure  enough,"  said  plucky  John  Sebastian,  "  free  to  all."  So  for  six 
long  months  every  bright  night  found  him  diligently  copying  the  for- 

139 


140  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND   MUSIC. 

bidden  treasure — copying,  we  may  be  sure,  with  rare  patience,  and  a 
singularly  fine  hand  for  a  boy,  for  paper  was  scarce.  Alas!  just  as  the 
task  was  done,  in  an  unlucky  moment  his  brother  found  him  out,  and 
not  only  confiscated  the  original  but  the  copy  as  well,  and  the  poor 
John  Sebastian  had  only  the  comforting  recollection  that  at  least  he 
"  had  done  his  best." 

After  a  while  the  brother  died,  and  the  boy  was  sent  to  the  "  gym- 
nasium" (or  grammar  school)  at  Luneberg,  and  was  soprano  singer  at 
St.  Michael's  church.  While  here  he  lost  no  opportunity  of  hearing 
good  players.  On  one  occasion  he  went  to  Hamburg  (about  forty  miles 
away)  to  hear  Reinken,  who  was  at  that  time  a  famous  organist,  and 
again  to  Zell  to  hear  the  Prince's  band  there,  and  especially  to  become 
better  versed  in  the  French  taste  that  prevailed.  All  the  while  he  ap- 
plied himself  so  diligently  to  the  study  of  the  organ  and  piano  that  at 
the  age  of  eighteen  (in  1703)  we  find  him  widely  recognized  as  an  un- 
doubted master,  and  appointed  court  musician  at  Weimar.  The  fol- 
lowing year  he  became  organist  at  the  new  church  of  Arnstadt — pro- 
bably because  he  could  pursue  his  taste  for  the  organ  better  there,  for 
his  duties  as  court  musician  involved  only  his  services  as  violinist.  In 
his  new  place  he  manifested  the  diligence  that  had  all  along  character- 
ized him.  Wherever  in  all  the  country  around  there  was  a  celebrated 
organist,  there  would  Bach  be  sure  to  go  in  order  to  discover  the  charm 
and  secret  of  his  power.  He  went  on  foot  to  Lubeck  to  hear  Bux- 
tehude,  a  distinguished  master  there;  and,  too  poor  to  take  lessons,  he 
even  remained  a  full  quarter  of  a  year  a  secret  hearer  of  that  organist. 
All  this  time  he  diligently  exercised  himself  in  organ  and  piano  play- 
ing, and  in  all  schools  of  composition.  He  studied  with  the  closest 
care  all  the  older  master  works  he  could  lay  his  hands  on.  He  fervently 
desired  to  make  a  longer  art  journey  into  Italy,  but  poverty  prevented. 
By  degrees,  however,  he  possessed  himself  of  the  chief  works  of  Pal- 
estrina,  Caldara,  Lotti,  and  the  other  best  writers  of  the  Italian  school. 
He  had  already  learned  the  Italian  art  of  singing,  from  Italian  singers 
he  had  known  in  Hamburg. 

With  such  diligence  no  wonder  his  fame  spread  abroad  as  that  of 
a  master.  Accordingly  we  find  him  soon  back  to  Weimar  as  Court 
organist,  and  later  (1717)  as  chief  music  director.  Here,  doubtless,  he 
composed  many  of  his  chief  works  for  the  organ  and  his  orchestral 
suites. 

About  this  time  Marchand,  Handel's  master,  died  at  Halle,  and 
Bach  was  invited  to  succeed  him.  He  even  went  to  Halle  to  prove  his 
qualifications,  but  for  some  reason  did  not  take  the  place.  Sometime 


JOHN   SEBASTIAN  BACH.  141 

before  this  Marchand  and  Bach  had  been  invited  to  play  in  contest 
before  the  king  at  Dresden,  but  at  the  last  moment  Marchand's  courage 
failed  him,  for  he  had  in  some  way  found  out  that  the  young  German 
had  an  unparalleled  fluency  of  ideas  combined  with  rare  skill  in  treat- 
ment; so  Bach  amused  and  astonished  for  hours  the  great  audience 
gathered  by  his  wonderful  performances.  Passing  over  Bach's  service 
as  court  music  director  under  Prince  Leopold  of  Anhalt-Cothen  (extend- 
ing through  six  years),  and  his  journey  to  Hamburg  to  play  the  organ, 
where  he  excited  the  greatest  wonder  in  the  breast  of  the  veteran 
Reinken  by  his  masterly  improvisations  on  the  chorale,  "  An  Wasser- 
flussen  Babylon's"  we  come  to  the  year  1733  when  Bach  was  appointed 
Cantor  to  the  St.  Thomas  school  in  Leipsic,  Where  he  spent  twenty-six 
fruitful  and  peaceful  years.  What  good  came  of  this  quiet  life  will 
appear  when  we  come  to  speak  more  particularly  of  his  works.  The 
chief  episode  of  his  Leipsic  life  was  his  visit  to  Frederick  the  Great,  at 
Potsdam,  in  the  year  1747.  This  visit  was  paid  only  after  the  most 
pressing  invitations  from  the  king,  expressed  through  Bach's  second 
son,  Carl  Philip  Emanuel,  who  was  at  that  time  chapel  master  to  the 
Princess  Amelia.  King  Frederick  was  a  flute  player,  and,  like  the 
most  of  the  breed,  thought  himself  a  fine  one.  So  every  night,  when 
not  too  busy  with  cares  of  state,  he  was  accustomed  to  get  his  orchestra 
together  and  astonish  them  with  his  flute  virtuosity.  In  this  way  he 
imagined  himself  greater  than  a  king — a  God-endowed  artist.  One 
night  just  as  the  musical  hilarity  was  about  to  begin,  a  servant  brought 
him  the  list  of  arrivals.  "Gentlemen,"  said  the  king,  solemnly,  "  Old 
Bach  is  come!"  So,  all  stained  with  travel  and  tumbled  and  torn  with 
the  horrible  stage-coaching  of  those  days,  with  never  a  moment  for  a 
hasty  bite  of  something  to  eat,  with  scarcely  a  glass  of  beer  to  soothe 
the  inner  man,  the  great  king  was  confronted  by  a  greater,  the  king  of 
the  ororan,  John  Sebastian  Bach.  Bach,  taken  from  one  room  to 

O  '  ' 

another  by  the  king  and  assembled  musicians,  was  compelled  to  inspect 
and  play  upon  every  one  of  the  numerous  Silberman  pianos  in  the 
palace.  After  Bach  had  improvised  for  a  while  he  asked  the  king  to 
give  him  a  subject  in  which  to  work  out  a  fugue,  and  the  learning  dis- 
played in  the  work  was  highly  admired  by  all  present.  He  then  selected 
a  suitable  subject  and  worked  out  extempore  a  fugue  in  six  obligato 
parts. 

The  next  day  they  made  the  tour  of  all  the  organs  in  Potsdam,  in 
in  order  that  the  King  might  hear  his  organ-playing.  On  his  return  to 
Leipsic,  Bach  composed  the  subject  he  had  received  from  the  King  iv 
three  and  six  parts,  and  had  it  engraved  under  the  title  "  Musikar 


142  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

isches  Opfer"  (musical  offering),  and  dedicated  it  to  the  inventor-^ 
certainly  a  neat  and  proper  thing  to  do,  and  for  which  I  hope  the 
rather  stingy  King  had  the  grace  to  make  a  fit  acknowledg- 
ment. 

Bach  not  only  used  his  eyes  enormously  in  reading  and  writing  an 
immense  mass  of  works  in  early  youth,  seriously  undermining  his  sight 
by  the  moonlight  writing,  but  in  many  cases  he  had  engraved  his  own 
compositions.  In  consequence  of  all  this  application  through  more 
than  sixty  years,  at  last  his  eyes  became  much  inflamed,  and  finally  he 
lost  his  sight  altogether.  This  so  weighed  upon  his  spirits  that  he  con- 
tinued to  decline  for  fully  half  a  year,  and  finally  expired  July  28th, 
1750. 

Bach  was  twice  married.  The  first  wife  had  seven  children;  the 
second  thirteen,  of  whom  .eight  were  sons.  Several  of  his  children 
were  musical,  and  one  of  them,  Carl  Philip  Emanuel,  was  the  forerun- 
ner of  the  Haydn  and  Mozart  school  of  music.  His  theory  was  that 
the  instrument  must  be  made  to  sing;  accordingly  we  find  him  content 
with  shorter  forms  and  less  learned  musical  phraseology  than  that 
adopted  by  his  father,  whom,  on  his  own  ground,  he  modestly  confessed 
himself  totally  incapable  of  rivalling. 

As  a  piano  player  Bach  was  one  of  the  greatest  of  his  time.  His 
touch  was  silvery,  distinct  and  expressive,  his  legato  playing  extremely 
perfect,  and  his  contrasts  of  power  remarkable  for  that  day.  He  had 
a  short,  thick  hand,  and  Prof.  Karl  Klauser  (of  the  seminary  at  Farm- 
ington,  Conn.)  says  that  as  near  as  he  can  make  it  out  from  Forkel's  life, 
Bach's  touch  must  have  been  much  the  same  as  that  employed  by  Dr. 
Wm.  Mason— a  touch  which  then,  as  now,  produced  the  most  lovely 
and  varied  tones  from  the  piano-forte. 

As  an  organ  player  Bach  has  had  great  injustice  done  him  by  those 
who  suppose  that  every  time  he  sat  down  to  the  organ  he  drew  all  the 
stops  and  "  blazed  away  "  by  the  hour  on  the  full  organ.  Not  he.  The 
organ  builders  used  to  complain  of  his  audacity  in  making  combina- 
tions. They  said  he  put  stops  together  in  the  most  unheard  of  and 
unorthodox  manner.  And  all  this  is  easy  enough  to  understand. 
Bach  was  first  a  violinist,  and  there  is  no  record  of  a  violinist  who 
could  not  appreciate  melody.  He  was  full  of  melody.  Consider  fur- 
ther that  he  was  an  orchestral  writer  of  rare  power — quite  an  innova- 
tor in  his  day,  coloring  his  scores  to  the  full  scope  of  the  instruments 
then  employed.  Besides,  his  very  organ  works  themselves  contradict 
/us  notion,  for  the  full  organ  pieces  do  not  make  up  more  than  half 
•he  volume  of  them;  but  we  find  trios  for  two  claviers  and  pedale, 


JOHN   SEBASTIAN  BACH.  143 

and  variations  which  you  may  be  sure  Bach  "  varied"  in  combination 
no  less  than  in  harmony  and  melody. 

While  Bach  was  Cantor  of  the  St.  Thomas  Church  he  had  two 
choirs  and  an  orchestra  at  his  disposal.  Music  was  no  small  part  of 
the  service.  The  hearty  singing  of  the  German  peasants  and  school 
children  in  the  simple  chorals,  which  Bach  accompanied  with  such 
wonderful  harmonies,  and  the  well-trained  choirs,  combined  to  afford 
the  composer  rare  facilities  for  the  illustration  of  the  musical  ideas 
with  which  his  solid-looking  old  head  teemed.  So  on  every  feast  day 
he  brought  out  a  new  Cantata,  a  psalm  set  to  music  for  one  or  two 
choirs,  orchestra  and  organ,  now  and  then  a  verse  of  a  psalm-tune  in- 
terspersed, in  which  everybody  took  part,  and  the  freest  use  of  solos 
that  the  subject  demanded.  Of  these  works  about  seventy  have  been 
published,  ranging  from  twenty  minutes  in  length  to  an  hour — 'Works 
which  suggested  Mendelssohn's  "  Hymn  of  Praise,"  "  As  Pants  the 
Heart,"  etc. 

To  be  sure  but  few  of  the  common  people  knew  what  wonderful 
things  they  were  hearing.  Robert  Franz  tells  that  he  once  saw  a  very  old 
man  who  was  sexton  of  the  St.  Thomas  Church  while  Bach  was  there. 
"  And  what  did  they  think  of  his  works?"  asked  the  enthusiastic  and 
reverential  Franz.  "  Mr.  Bach's  compositions,"  said  the  sapient  critic, 
"  were  very  much  alike." 

The  greatest  work  of  this  period  was  Bach's  "Passions  Music," 
according  to  St.  Matthew.  This  consists  of  about  two  hours'  music, 

O  * 

solos,  choruses,  interspersed  stanzas  of  hymn  tunes  descriptive  of  the 
passion  of  the  garden  and  the  cross.  It  was  written  for  and  first  given 
on  Good  Friday  evening  in  1729,  and  does  not  seem  to  have  been 
given  again  until  Mendelssohn  exhumed  it  a  hundred  years  later,  and 
gave  it  on  Good  Friday  1829.  Since  then  it  has  been  frequently  done 
in  Germany,  and  always  on  Good  Friday  in  the  St.  Thomas  Church  in 
Leipsic.  This  work  has  become  much  admired  in  London,  and  was  nib- 
bled at  bravely  by  the  Handel  and  Haydn  Society  in  Boston  at  their 
Festival  in  1871,  and  finally  given  entire  in  1877,  largely,  be  it  said, 
through  the  perseverance  of  Mr.  Dwight  and  two  or  three  other  enthusi- 
astic admirers  of  Bach. 

When  given  at  Leipsic,  and  as  a  religious  service,  the  Passion 
Music  is  full  of  pathos  and  beauty.  Let  us  imagine  a  vast,  barn-like 
church,  dimly  lighted,  with  two  galleries,  one  above  the  other.  Far 
up  in  the  upper  gallery,  with  never  a  soul  in  sight,  we  hear  the  voices 
of  the  choirs  and  organ.  The  choirs  occupy  opposite  galleries.  At  the 
appointed  hour  the  gentle  strain  begins,  "  Come,  ye  daughters,  weep 


144  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

for  anguish,"  and  presently  breaks  in  the  penetrating  voice  of  a  couple 
hundred  school  children,  singing  independently  the  choral,  "  O  Lamb 
of  God,  all  blameless,"  a  tone  and  words  as  familiar  there  as  the  Old 
Hundredth  here.  The  effect  is  totally  indescribable.  The  gentle  and 
cultivated  tones  of  the  choir  as  they  thread  the  graceful  strains  of  the 
counterpoint,  the  reed-like  and  lusty  tones  of  the  boys'  voices,  the 
coloring  of  the  orchestra,  and  the  sombre  majesty  of  the  organ — all  this 
with  never  a  performer  visible;  you  sit  there  in  the  darkness  and  from 
some  far-away  shore  the  sounds  come  to  you  and  overwhelm  you 
with  waves  of  music.  Anon  the  chorus  dies  away  and  a  piercing  haut- 
boy takes  up  a  charming  theme  which  a  solo  voice  interprets,  "  I'll 
watch  with  my  dear  Jesus,"  and  softly,  yet  richly,  the  chorus  responds, 
"  So  slumber  shall  my  sins  befall." 

And  further  on  the  whole  congregation,  choirs  and  instruments, 
all  in  tender  devotion,  take  up  the  strain — 

"  O  Head,  all  bruised  and  wounded. 
Hung  up  to  brutal  scorn ! 
O  Head  with  shame  surrounded 
"W  th  crown  of  cruel  thorn ! 
O  Head,  to  honor  wonted, 
To  splendor  all  divine, 
Now  outraged  and  affronted : 
All  hail,  dear  master  min  j !" 

This  indeed  is  religious  art!  Not  these  the  utterances  of  the 
bright  concert  room,  for  the  applause  of  the  unthoughtful  crowd;  but 
here  the  Christian  heart  meditates  on  the  mystery  of  redemption,  and 
to  celebrate  that  wondrous  love  tearfully  brings  every  offering  that 
the  musical  art  affords. 

Mr.  John  Hullah,  in  his  lectures  on  "  The  Transition  Periods  of 
Music,"  holds  that  Bach's  obscurity  of  expression  is  such  as  will  for- 
ever debar  him  from  wide  popularity.  This  way  of  putting  it  does  not 
seem  to  me  fortunate.  "  Obscurity  of  expression"  is  not  properly  pre- 
dicable  of  Bach.  Nor  has  he  any  lack  of  melody.  On  the  contrary, 
he  is  absolutely  the  most  inexhaustible  of  all  in  this  direction.  It  can 
not  be  denied  that  Bach  carried  the  intellectual  in  music  beyond  the 
point  where  technical  devices  assist  the  expression  of  emotion — at  least 
for  our  day.  But  let  us  not  forget  that  while  there  are  now  few  musi- 
cians who  can  handle  contrapuntal  forms  well,  in  Bach's  day  this  was 
a  common  accomplishment,  and  formulae  of  expression  which  in  his 
day  were  clear  enough,  and  dramatic  enough,,  tirrv  in  the  ll?ht  of  this 
excitable  nineteenth  century,  too  cold. 


JOHN  SEBASTIAN  BACH.  145 

And  however  Bach  may  stand  with  the  public,  he  has  been  the 
great  inspiration  to  all  the  best  and  most  poetic  of  later  musicians, — 
as  for  instance  Mendelssohn,  Schumann  and  Chopin — and  this,  across 
a  century  or  so,  is  surely  great  honor.  To  the  organist  and  violinist 
Bach's  works  are  at  once  the  best  exercises  for  developing  his  art  as  a 
player,  and  the  freshest  and  most  characteristic  pieces  for  his  instru- 
ment. Yet  not  all  Bach's  compositions  are  great.  But  in  the  mass 
(the  manuscripts  make  a  pile  over  two  feet  high,  and,  it  is  computed, 
would  occupy  a  copyist  more  than  twenty  years  to  copy  them — 
although  this,  I  dare  say,  is  making  it  rather  a  fat  thing  for  the  copy- 
ist) masterworks  of  the  purest  conception  are  to  be  found,  and  that  in 
large  numbers. 

I  can  not  sum  up  Bach's  works  better  than  in  the  words  of  Wilhelm 
Rust,  in  Mendel's  "  Conversations- Lexicon"  article  " Bach." 

"  In  all  these  works,  from  the  greatest  and  richest  in  compass  clear 
down  to  the  smallest  range  of  musical  formations,  Bach  maintained  his 
imperishable  glory  as  the  lofty  representative  of  the  Inner  and  Spiritual 
in  art,  as  the  boldest  and  mightiest  herald  of  the  ideal  in  art  works. 
The  great  contrapuntal  skill  which  holds  performer  and  hearer  in  the 
chains  of  the  most  perfect  polyphony,  the  mastership  of  the  works  in 
their  organic  development,  and  their  value  and  thankfulness  for  the 
purposes  of  study,  serve  only  as  means  for  expressing  his  ideal.  All 
these  are  the  stuff  through  which  he  expresses  the  spiritual.  The  purely 
technical,  therefore,  can  in  no  way  be  regarded  as  Bach's  chief  great- 
ness, although  many  still  suppose  so.  His  greatness  rests  not  in  the 
ingenious  forms  of  which,  to  be  sure,  he  is  master,  so  that  no  one  before 
or  since  has  expressed  himself  in  them  so  easily  and  naturally,  but 
rather  in  the  noble,  free  and  lofty  spirit,  which  in  its  mighty  flight  is 
able  to  rule  and  control  his  thoughts  and  perceptions,  and  with  equal 
ease  strike  the  strings  of  a  sought-for  emotion,  or  rise  into  the  bound- 
less fields  of  free  music.  Deep  moral  earnestness  is  the  very  founda- 
tion of  his  music,  and  glorifies  even  his  playful  creations;  aesthetic 
loveliness  adds  itself  to  him,  as  it  were,  of  its  own  accord.  Only  such 
a  strength,  eminent  in  depth  of  thought,  and  equally  skillful  in  expres- 
sion, could  possibly  have  produced  such  colossal  structures  and  giant 
forms  as  Bach  has  left  us  in  his  great  church  works,  which,  in  all  their 
greatness,  are  created  out  of  the  deepest  and  most  trustful  piety." 

10 


146  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

PROGRAMME  OP  BACH  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  (Moderately  Difficult.) 

\.  Prelude  and  Fugue  in  C  minor,  "  Clavier  "  I.  No.  3. 

2.  Loure  in  G,  arranged  by  Heinze. 

3.  Sarabande  in  A,  No.  5,  Bach  "Favorite  Pieces,"  Peters,  No.  231. 

4.  Gavotte  in  D,  No.  3  in  the  same. 

5.  Song,  "  My  Heart  ever  Faithful." 

6.  Invention  in  E  minor,  No.  7  of  the  3-part  Inventions. 

7.  Gavotte  in  D,  arranged  by  Mason. 

3.  (Difficult,  Employing  (Tie  Piano,  Organ,  and  Violin.) 

1.  Chromatic  Fantasia  and  Fugue. 

2.  Air  for  G,  string,  (As  played  by  Wilhelmj). 

3.  Courante  in  E  minor,  No.  7,  from  Peters,  No.  221. 

4.  Organ  Prelude  in  B  minor,  Organ  works  Vol.  II,  No.  10. 

5.  Chaconne  for  violin  Solo. 

6.  Grand  Prelude  and  Fugue  in  G  minor,  Organ  works,  Vol.  II,  No  4. 

7.  Meditation  upon  Bach's  1st  Prelude,  by  Ch.  Gounod,  For  organ,  piano,  ana 

violin. 

3.  (For  Piano  and  Voice.) 

1.  Chromatic  Fantasia  and  Fugue. 

2.  Song,  "  My  Heart  ever  Faithful. 

8.  Invention  in  F,  No.  8,  two  part. 
Sarabande  in  A. 

Invention  in  E  minor. 

Gigue  in  G,  (No.  2  in  Peters,  No.  321). 

4.  Slumber  Song  from  Christmas  Oratorio. 

5.  Invention  in  C  minor,  3  part. 
Loure  in  G,  Heinze. 

Sarabande  in  F,  No.  6,  Peters,  No.  231. 
Echo  in  B  minor,  No.  8  of  the  same. 
Gavotte  in  E  major,  Arr.  by  Tours. 

6.  Echo  Aria  from  the  Christmas  Oratorio. 

7.  Grand  Organ  Fugue  in  G  minor,  Arranged  for  piano  by  Liszt 


GEORGE  FREDERICK  HANDEL.  147 


CHAPTER     FORTY-THREE. 

GEORGE  FREDERICK  HANDEL. 

At  Halle,  in  Lower  Saxony,  Feb.  23, 1685,  was  born  Bach's  great 
contemporary,  and,  in  after  times,  rival,  Geo.  Frederick  Handel.  His 
father  was  a  physician  and  surgeon.  The  little  George  early  showed 
an  immense  desire  for  music,  and  that  to  his  poor  father's  discomfiture; 
"For,"  said  the  judicious  sire,  "music  is  an  elegant  art  and  fine 
amusement,  but  as  an  occupation  it  hath  little  dignity,  having  for  its 
object  nothing  better  than  mere  entertainment  and  pleasure."  So  he 
kept  the  boy  out  of  school  lest  he  should  learn  to  sing,  and  taught  him 
his  Latin  and  humanities  at  home.  But,  by  connivance  of  mother  or 
nurse,  they  say,  the  boy  contrived  to  get  a  dumb  spinet  hid  away  in  the 
garret,  and  there,  by  night,  taught  himself  to  play.  The  "  dumb  spinet" 
was  a  very  small  piano-forte,  of  which  the  strings  were  wound  with  cloth 
so  that  when  struck  it  gave  forth  only  a  mild  tinkling  sound.  They 
were  made  for  nuns  who  might  want  a  little  music  in  a  quiet  way  with- 
out disturbing  the  lady  superiors. 

When  still  a  small  boy,  scarce  eight  years  old,  his  father  made  a 
trip  to  Weissenfels,  to  visit  his  eldest  son,  who  was  in  the  service  of 
the  Duke  there.  Of  course  he  had  no  idea  of  taking  the  little  George 
Frederick  with  him,  for,  at  court,  the  boy  would  be  almost  sure  to  hear 
some  music  and  so  get  further  strengthened  in  his  pestiferous  liking  for 
the  shallow  art.  But  as  the  good  old  doctor  drove  away  in  his  chaise 
the  boy  ran  after  him  a  mile  or  two,  and  begged  so  hard  to  be  taken 
that  the  father  finally  bundled  him  into  the  chaise  and  took  him  along 
"to  get  rid  of  him."  Arrived  at  court,  the  boy  was  left  to  shift  for 
himself  while  papa  and  the  big  brother  were  seeing  the  lions  of  the 
place.  By  a  natural  attraction  the  young  musician  soon  found  himself 
in  the  chapel,  and,  with  the  friendly  aid  of  a  good  natured  servant  at 
the  bellows,  was  soon  in  fine  frenzy  of  harmony  at  the  organ.  By  a 
lucky  chance  the  Duke  came  along,  and  immediately  perceived  the  real 
talent  of  the  young  player.  And  here,  to  his  great  horror,  papa  Handel 
found  him  a  little  later.  But  the  Duke  assured  the  old  gentleman  that 
the  bey  had  a  genuine  talent  for  music  which  must  on  no  account  be 


148  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND  MUSIC 

hid;  that  he  must  put  young  George  Frederick  under  strict  training  as 
a  musician,  and  not  try  to  thwart  the  plain  design  of  Providence. 

So,  on  his  return  to  Halle,  young  Handel  was  put  under  the  in- 
struction of  the  great  organist  there,  Zachau,  who,  for  about  three  years> 
put  him  through  a  course  of  the  heroic  training  those  times  delighted 
in.  Towards  the  last  of  this  course  Handel  wrote  a  cantata  or  motette 
every  week — many  of  them,  I  dare  say,  poor  stuff;  for  what  else  could 
be  expected  of  a  boy  of  ten,  although  they  must  have  been  technically 
correct  to  satisfy  the  conscientious  old  pedagogue.  At  length  Zachau 
had  not  the  heart  to  keep  it  up  any  longer,  for  a  boy  who  could  produce 
fugues  with  such  facility  and  of  so  good  an  average  of  merit  was  already 
a  master,  and  so  Zachau  told  him.  So  Handel  went  next  to  Berlin,  in 
1696,  and  studied  the  opera  school,  under  the  auspices  of  the  Elector. 
The  next  year  old  Dr.  Handel  died,  leaving  his  family  poorly  provided 
for.  George  Frederick  then  went  to  Hamburg,  where  he  hoped  to 
earn  a  living  as  violinist  in  the  opera  orchestra.  Being  a  rather  poor 
player  he  got  a  very  subordinate  position,  that  of  ripieno  second  violin 
(a  sort  of  fifth  wheel),  and  was  regarded  by  the  other  players  as  a  verit- 
able dunce,  for  he  was  nineteen,  large,  awkward,  rather  shy,  and  a  poor 
fiddler.  But  one  day  the  leader  was  sick  and  the  rehearsal  likely  to 
fall  through;  and  Handel  took  his  seat  at  the  harpsichord  (or  piano) 
because  he  could  best  be  spared  from  his  place  in  the  orchestra,  and 
carried  the  rehearsal  through  with  such  spirit  that  the  whole  orchestra 
broke  into  loud  applause. 

On  the  strength  of  this  recognition  he  appears  soon  as  permanent 
conductor  of  the  orchestra,  and,  along  with  his  dear  friend  Matheson,  a 
chief  composer  of  opera  for  the  Hamburg  stage.  Here  presently  he 
brought  out  " •Al'mira"  and  "JVero,"  and,  probably,  "Florindo  and 
Daphne"  which  he  had  already  written  while  in  Berlin.  But  it  was 
Handel's  great  desire  to  visit  Italy.  So,  refusing  the  liberal  offer  of 
Prince  Giovanni  Gaston  de  Medici  to  send  him,  he  saved  his  money  and 
was  straightway  able  to  go  at  his  own  expense,  and  in  1707,  at  the  age  of 
twenty-one,  he  entered  Florence.  Here,  however,  he  stayed  only  long 
enough  to  compose  the  opera  " Roderigo"  for  which  he  received  one 
hundred  sequins,  when  he  immediately  betook  himself  to  Venice. 
Here  he  was  received  with  open  arms.  The  abounding  vitality  of  his 
music  and  its  sparkling  and  good  natured  originality  was  such  as  to 
secure  for  him  the  epithet  "the  dear  Saxon"  (" II  Caro  Sassonc"). 

Domenico  Scarlatti  was  the  great  harpsichordist  of  all  Italy  at  that 
time.  He  was  a  sort  of  Chopin  of  his  day,  imparting  a  new  grace  and 
scope  to  piano-forte  music,  yet  not  creating  in  such  a  masterly  way  as 


GEORGE  FREDERICK  HANDEL.  149 

to  conquer  the  after-coming  generations.  Handel,  also,  excelled  as  a 
harpsichordist,  and  the  relative  merits  of  the  two  artists  were  widely 
discussed.  It  was  generally  thought  that  Scarlatti  played  with  more 
grace;  but  at  the  organ  Handel  was  unquestionably  the  superior. 
Scarlatti  himself,  however,  was  not  satisfied.  One  night  at  a  masked 
ball  a  disguised  player  seated  himself  at  the  harpsichord  and  amid 
the  noise  and  confusion  played  away  unnoticed.  But  just  then  Scar- 
latti came  in  and  at  once  his  trained  ear  recognized  the  masterly  touch. 
"  It  is  either  the  Saxon  or  the  Devil,"  said  he.  It  was  the  Saxon. 
Whenever  people  used  to  praise  his  playing  he  used  to  pronounce 
Handel's  name  and,  with  the  Italian  grimace,  cross  himself.  But  Handel 
and  Scarlatti  became  fast  friends. 

Here  in  Venice,  Handel  in  three  weeks  composed  an  opera 
" Agrippina"  which  made  a  furore  from  Venice  to  Rome.  Here 
he  secured  the  patronage  of  Cardinal  Ottoboni,  whose  band-master 
was  the  celebrated  Corelli,  a  composer  and  violinist  of  somewhat  re- 
fined and  gentle  nature,  but  of  marked  genius.  Here  Handel  wrote 
five  operas,  of  which  we  have  no  room  to  speak  further. 

In  1709  he  was  back  again  in  Germany,  at  Hanover,  where  he  was 
retained  in  the  service  of  the  Elector  George  of  Brunswick,  afterwards 
the  English  George  I,  at  a  salary  of  £300  a  year.  Here  he  fell  in  with 
some  English  noblemen,  who  invited  him  over  to  London.  So  with 
gracious  leave  of  absence  from  the  Elector,  he  came  to  London  in  the 
Autumn  of  1710,  where  he  found  the  Italian  taste  everywhere  prev- 
alent. To  meet  this  he  composed  the  opera  Rinaldo,  which  was 
brought  out  in  1711  with  immense  success,  and  was  forthwith  arranged 
for  pianos  and  barrel  organs,  and  was  thrummed,  whistled  and  beat 
from  one  end  of  the  kingdom  to  the  other.  Walsh,  the  publisher,  is 
said  to  have  made  £1,500  out  of  the  sale  of  the  pieces  of  this  opera. 
Within  a  few  months  Handel  was  back  again  in  Hanover,  but  the  quiet 
German  Court  was  not  much  to  his  taste  after  the  success  in  London. 
So  again  he  got  leave  of  absence  for  a  visit  to  London,  and  in  1712 
brought  out  an  ode  on  the  occasion  of  the  Queen's  birthday.  The  follow- 
ing year  the  peace  of  Utrecht  gave  occasion  for  the  Te  Deum  and  Jubi- 
late (both  well  known  in  England),  and  for  these  three  the  composer 
received  a  pension  of  £200  a  year  from  Queen  Anne,  and  forthwith 
Handel  (to  use  a  western  phrase)  "  went  back  "  on  Hanover  and  its 
rather  slow  court  completely  and  for  good.  Now  this  was  all  very  well 
as  long  as  the  Queen  lived,  for  the  public  was  ready  to  hear  and  pay. 
But  presently  Queen  Anne  died,  and,  bad  luck  for  Handel,  George  I, 
in  very  wrathful  mood  at  the  trick  played  him  by  his  quondam  chapel 


150  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

master,  came  over  himself  to  reign.  Handel  was  forbidden  the  court; 
but  Handel's  music  was  sung  and  played  everywhere,  and  the  new  King 
not  only  knew  good  music  when  he  heard  it,  but  he  knew  Handel's 
music  as  well  as  he  knew  his  robust  frame  and  round  face.  So  one 
day  as  the  King  went  down  the  river  in  a  state  barge,  a  boat  came 
after  him  playing  some  new  and  delightful  music,  which  in  the  turn  of 
\ihe  phrases  was  Handel's  clearly  enough.  This  was  the  celebrated 
"  water  music,"  well  enough  in  its  day,  but  now,  in  spite  of  its  election 
and  high  calling,  rather  passe/.  But  it  appeased  the  ire  of  the  King, 
and  Handel's  pardon  was  sealed  with  a  new  pension  of  £200  a  year. 

Mr.  Haweis,  in  "  Music  and  Morals,"  gives  a  pleasant  picture  of 
the  society  in  which  Handel  moved  at  that  time.  "  Yonder  heavy,  rag- 
ged looking  youth,  standing  at  a  corner  of  Regent  street  with  a  slight 
and  rather  refined  looking  companion,  is  the  obscure  Samuel  Johnson, 
quite  unknown  to  fame.  He  is  walking  with  Richard  Savage.  As 
Signer  Handel,  the  composer  of  Italian  music,  passes  by,  Savage  be- 
comes excited,  and  nudges  his  friend,  who  only  takes  a  languid  in- 
terest in  the  foreigner.  Johnson  did  not  care  for  music  ;  of  many 
noises  he  considered  it  the  least  disagreeable. 

"  Toward  Charing  Cross  comes,  in  shovel  hat  and  cassock,  the 
renowned  ecclesiastic,  Dean  Swift.  He  has  just  nodded  patronizingly 
to  Bononcini  in  the  Strand  and  suddenly  meets  Handel,  who  cuts  him 
dead.  Nothing  disconcerted,  the  Dean  moves  on  muttering  his  famous 

epigram  : 

'  Some  say  that  Signer  Bononcini, 
Compared  to  Handel,  is  a  ninny; 
While  others  vow  that  to  him  Handel 
Is  hardly  fit  to  hold  a  candle. 
Strange  that  such  differences  should  be 
'Twixt  tweedledum  and  tweedledee.' 

"  As  Handel  enters  '  Turk's  Head,'  at  the  corner  of  Regent  street, 
a  noble  coach  arid  four  drove  up;  it  is  the  Duke  of  Chandos,  who  is 
inquiring  for  Mr.  Pope;  presently  a  deformed  little  man  in  an  iron- 
grey  suit,  and  a  face  as  keen  as  a  razor,  hobbles  out,  makes  a  low  bow 
to  the  burly  Handel,  who,  helping  him  into  the  chariot,  gets  in  after 
him,  and  they  drive  off  together  to  Cannons,  the  Duke's  mansion  at 
Edgeware.  There  they  meet  Mr.  Addison,  the  poet  Gay,  and  the  witty 
Arbuthnot,  who  have  been  asked  to  luncheon.  The  last  number  of 
the  Spectator  lies  on  the  table,  and  a  brisk  discussion  soon  arises  be- 
tween Pope  and  Addison  concerning  the  merits  of  the  Italian  Opera,  in 
which  the  poet  would  have  the  better,  if  he  only  knew  a  little  more 
about  music,  and  could  keep  his  temper." 


GEORGE  FREDERICK  HANDEL.  151 

The  Duke  had  a  private  chapel,  and  appointed  Handel  organist 
in  place  of  Dr.  Pepusch,  who  retired  with  very  good  grace  betore  one 
so  manifestly  his  superior.  The  Duke's  chapel  became  a  very  fashion- 
able Sunday  resort  of  those  who  wanted  to  worship  God  in  great  com- 
pany and  hear  Mr.  Handel  play  the  organ.  While  in  this  position 
Handel  composed  what  were  called  the  "  Chandos  Anthems,"  numbering 
over  a  hundred  pieces.  These  are  interesting  as  marking  his  transi- 
tion towards  the  oratorio  ;  but  they  are  never  performed  now,  except 
for  their  historical  interest.  During  his  residence  at  Cannons,  which 
extended  to  1721,  Handel  composed  his  oratorio  of  "  Esther." 

In  1720  Handel  was  engaged  by  a  society  of  noblemen  to  com- 
pose operas  for  the  Royal  Academy  of  Music  at  the  Haymarket,  of 
which  "  Radamistus "  was  one  of  the  first  fruits;  on  this  followed 
"Floridante  "  in  1721  and  "Otto"  in  1753 — the  latter  being  considered 
the  flower  of  his  dramatic  works.  Of  the  favorite  air  "  Affani  del  pen- 
sier,"  Dr.  Pepusch  remarked,  "The  great  bear  was  certainly  inspired 
when  he  wrote  that  song."  This  career  of  activity  went  on  with  full 
tide  of  fashionable  favor  for  four  years,  including  seven  more  operas. 
Then  the  fashion  changed.  At  a  rival  theatre  Dr.  Pepusch  brought 
out  '  The  Beggar's  Opera,'  composed  of  all  sorts  of  bits  from  every 
source  including  much  from  Handel  himself,  and  all  the  public  went  to 
laugh  at  and  enjoy  it. 

Not  disheartened,  Handel  posted  off  to  Italy  to  get  a  supply  of 
the  best  singers,  determined  to  "  fight  it  out  on  that  line."  But  fash- 
ion is  a  fickle  goddess,  and  it  was  many  a  struggling  year  before  tough 
old  Handel  saw  her  smiling  face  again.  New  and  better  operas  were 
given  with  new  and  good  clothes  ;  but  the  public  did  not  respond. 
Giving  operas  with  Italian  singers  is  apt  to  try  one's  temper,  as  perhaps 
Messrs.  Maretzek,  Strakosch  and  Grau  could  inform  us  if  they  would. 
It  is  related  that  at  a  rehearsal,  after  repeated  signs  of  insubordination 
that  had  terribly  tried  the  composer's  irascible  temper,  the  famous  Cuz- 
zoni  finally  declined  to  sing  "  Falsa  Immagine."  Handel  exploded  at 
last.  "  He  flew  at  the  wretched  woman  and  shook  her  like  a  rat.  'Ah! 
I  always  knew  you  were  a  fery  tefil,'  he  cried  ;  and  I  shall  now  let 
you  know  that  I  am  Beelzebub,  the  prince  of  te  tefils!'  and  dragging 
her  to  the  open  window,  was  just  on  the  point  of  pitching  her  into  the 
street,  when,  in  every  sense  of  the  word  she  recanted.*" 

The  struggle  against  fate  lasted  until  about  1741.  In  1732,  we 
read  that  "  Hester,  an  English  oratorio,  was  performed  six  times,  and 
very  full."  Within  the  next  seven  years  he  wrote  sixteen  operas  and 

•Music  and  Morals. 


152  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

five  oratorios.  Still,  with  strange  blindness,  Handel  could  not  see 
that  the  public  had  done  with  his  operas.  He  wrote  ballet  music 
(fancy  Handel  writing  music  for  "the  Black  Crook"  or  "the  Field  of 
the  Cloth  of  Gold")  and  lavished  immense  sums  in  scenery,  "  new 
clothes "  and  properties.  But  it  was  all  in  vain.  In  eight  years  he 
lost  £10,000  in  opera  and  was  obliged  to  suspend  payment  and  close 
the  theatre.  With  failing  health  he  betook  himself,  sick,  discouraged 
and  mad,  to  Aix-la-Chapelle.  In  1727  he  was  much  amended  and  re- 
turned to  England,  as  Mr.  Haweis  suggests,  "  not  like  Mozart  from 
Baden,  to  write  his  own  requiem,  but  some  one's  else."  It  was  the 
funeral  anthem  in  memory  of  Queen  Caroline  that  claimed  his  atten- 
tion. 

Resolute  still,  he  tried  the  opera  again,  producing  three  successively; 
but  each  failed  worse  than  the  last.  Still  many  were  true  to  him. 
King  George  II,  paid  him  well  for  his  work,  and  taught  the  Prince  of 
Wales  (afterwards  George  IV)  to  love  his  music.  "  Southey  tells  us 
that  Handel  asked  the  boy,  then  quite  a  child,  who  was  listening  very 
earnestly  to  his  playing,  if  he  liked  the  music,  and  when  the  little  prince 
expressed  his  delight,  '  A  good  boy!  a  good  boy!'  cried  Handel.  '  You 
shall  protect  my  fame  when  I  am  dead.' "  The  best  writers,  too,  stood 
up  manfully  for  Handel.  Such  were  Gay,  Arbuthnot,  Hughes,  Colley 
Gibber,  Pope,  Fielding,  Hogarth  and  Smollett.  "  These  were  the  men 
who  kept  their  fingers  on  the  pulse  of  the  age  ;  they  gauged  Handel 
accurately,  and  they  were  not  wrong.  At  a  time  when  others  jeered 
at  Handel's  oratorios,  these  men  wrote  them  up  ;  when  the  tide  of  fine 
society  ebbed,  and  left  Handel  high  and  dry  on  the  boards  of  a  deserted 
theatre,  they  occupied  the  pit ;  when  he  gave  his  benefit  concert  they 
bought  the  tickets,  and  when  his  operas  failed,  they  immediately  sub- 
scribed and  had  them  engraved."* 

The  people,  also,  were  true  to  Handel.  His  music  was  played  by 
bands  everywhere  throughout  the  kingdom.  He  became  very  popu- 
lar as  a  player,  and  at  every  oratorio  performance  performed  one  or 
two  "new  organ  concertos."  The  year  1739  was  a  very  active  one  for 
Handel;  in  it  he  produced  the  oratorios  of  "  Saul,"  "  Alexander's  Feast," 
and  "  Israel  in  Egypt."  The  latter  is  truly  a  colossal  work,  containing 
twenty-seven  choruses,  nearly  all  of  which  are  double,  that  is,  written 
for  two  choirs.  This  work  has  been  given  by  the  Boston  Handel  and 
Haydn  Society  several  times,  and  perhaps  elsewhere  in  this  country. 
It  is  very  grand,but  many  regard  it  as  somewhat  tedious  on  account  of  the 
preponderance  of  choruses.  This  succession  of  such  mighty  choruses 

*Music  and  Morals,  p.  167. 


GEORGE  FREDERICK  HANDEL.  153 

has  always  struck  musicians  with  wonder.  Mendelssohn  regarded  it  as 
something  almost  superhuman.  In  the  letters  from  1833  to  1847,  Men- 
delssohn recounts  the  use  he  made  of  a  part  of  this  oratorio  in  an  en- 
tertainment of  music  and  tableaux  given  at  Dusseldorf,  in  honor  of  the 
Crown  Prince.  "They  took  place  in  the  great  hall  of  the  Academy 
where  a  stage  was  erected.  In  front  was  the  double  chorus  (about 
ninety  voices  altogether)  standing  in  two  semi-circles  around  my  Eng- 
lish piano;  and  in  the  room,  seats  for  four  hundred  spectators.  R 

in  mediaeval  costume  interpreted  the  whole  affair,  and  contrived,  very 
cleverly,  to  combine  the  different  objects  in  spite  of  their  disparity. 
"He  exhibited  three  transparencies:  1st.  'Melancholy,'  after 
Durer,  a  motette  of  Lotti's,being  given  by  men's  voices  in  the  far  distance ; 
then  the  Raphael,  with  the  Virgin  appearing  to  him  in  a  vision,  to 
which  the 'O  Sanctissi ma' was  sung  (a  well  known  song,  but  which 
always  makes  people  cry);  thirdly,  St.  Jerome  in  his  tent,  with  a  song 
of  Weber's  '  Hor1  uns,  Warheit?  This  was  the  first  part.  Now 
came  the  best  of  all.  We  began  from  the  very  beginning  of  '  Israel 
in  Egypt.'  Of  course  you  know  the  first  recitative,  and  how  the  chorus 
gradually  swells  in  tone  ;  first  the  voices  of  the  alti  are  heard  alone, 
then  more  voices  join  in,  till  the  loud  passage  comes  with  single  chords, 
'  They  sighed,'  etc.  (  in  G  minor),when  the  curtain  rose  and  displayed 
the  first  tableau,  *  The  Children  of  Israel  in  Bondage,'  designed  and 
arranged  by  Bendeman.  In  the  foreground  was  Moses,  gazing  dream- 
ily into  the  distance  in  sorrowful  apathy;  beside  him  an  old  man  sink- 
ing into  the  ground  under  the  weight  of  a  beam,  while  his  son  makes 
an  effort  to  release  him  from  it;  in  the  background  some  beautiful 
figures  with  uplifted  arms,  a  few  weeping  children  in  the  foreground — 
the  whole  scene  closely  crowded  together  like  a  mass  of  fugitives. 
This  remained  visible  till  the  close  of  the  first  chorus;  and  when  it 
ended  in  C  minor  the  curtain  at  the  same  moment  dropped  over  the 
bright  picture.  A  finer  effect  I  scarcely  ever  saw. 

"The  chorus  then  sang  'The  Plagues,'  'Hail  Darkness'  and  'The 
First-Born,'  without  any  tableaux,  but  at  the  chorus  '  He  Led  Them 
Out  Like  Sheep,'  the  curtain  rose  again,  when  Moses  was  seen  in  the 
foreground,  with  raised  staff,  and  behind  him,  in  gay  tumult,  the  same  fig- 
ures who  in  the  first  tableaux  were  mourning,  now  all  pressing  onwards 
ladened  with  gold  and  silver  vessels;  one  young  girl  (also  by  Bende- 
man) was  especially  lovely,  who,  with  her  pilgrim's  staff,  seemed  as  if 
advancing  from  the  side  scenes  and  about  to  cross  the  stage.  Then 
came  the  choruses  again,  without  any  tableaux,  'But  the  Waters,' 
•He  rebuked  the  Red  Sea,'  '  Thy  Right  Hand,  O  Lord,'  and  the  recita- 


154  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

tive  '  And  Miriam,  the  Prophetess,'  at  the  close  of  which  the  solo  so- 
prano appeared.  At  the  same  moment  the  last  tableau  was  uncovered 
— Miriam  with  a  silver  timbrel  sounding  praises  to  the  Lord,  and  other 
maidens  with  harps  and  citherns,  and  in  the  background  four  men 
with  trombones  pointing  in  different  directions.  The  soprano  solo  was 
sung  behind  the  scenes,  as  if  proceeding  from  the  picture,  and  when 
the  chorus  came  in.  forte  real  trombones  and  trumpets  and  kettle  drums 
were  brought  on  the  stage  and  burst  in  like  a  thunderclap.  Handel 
evidently  intended  this  effect  *  *  * 

In  1741  Handel  composed  his  master  work,  "The  Messiah,"  in 
seventeen  days.  For  a  detailed  criticism  on  this  work  and  the  "Judas 
Maccabeus"  I  have  no  place.  It  must  suffice  to  say  of  "  The  Messiah" 
that  certain  numbers  of  it  are  masterpieces  of  the  most  precious  quality. 
Even  the  quaint  and  curious  "  And  He  Shall  Purify "  is  one  of  the 
most  characteristic  morceaux  to  be  found  in  the  whole  chorus  repertory. 
The  "  Hallelujah  "  chorus  is  now  everywhere  known.  Still  those  who 
have  never  heard  this  chorus  with  hundreds  of  voices,  full  orchestra 
and  organ,  have  not  yet  heard  Handel's  "  Hallelujah,"  but  only  a  part 
thereof.  It  is  generally  known  that  Mozart  added  new  wind  parts  to 
the  score  of  the  "Messiah."  These  additions  in  this  chorus  fill  up 
seven  staves,  and  impart  a  characteristic  splendor  to  this  noble  crea- 
tion, which  the  orchestra  in  Handel's  time  could  not  attain.* 

There  is  no  doubt  in  my  mind  that  Handel  was  helped  in  the 
"  Messiah  "  very  much  by  the  text,  which  contains  the  most  inspiring 
passages  to  be  found  in  all  literature;  besides,  in  his  other  works  he 
only  rarely  rises  to  the  heights  he  reaches  in  this  one. 

"  The  Messiah  "  was  first  produced  in  Dublin  in  174*2,  for  a  charita- 
ble purpose,  and  it  is  interesting  to  note  that  this  oratorio  has  con- 
tributed more  money  in  charity,  first  and  last,  than  any  other  work  of 
art  whatever.  The  production  of  these  great  oratorios  was  the  turning 
point  in  Handel's  fortunes.  He  speedily  paid  off  his  debts,  and  with- 
in the  next  seventeen  years  accumulated  a  handsome  fortune.  His 
last  oratorio  was  "  Jephtha,"  written  in  1751,  about  which  time  he  began 
to  be  blind,  from  the  affection  known  as  gutta  serena.  He  was  couched 
several  times,  but  he  finally  lost  his  sight  entirely.  He  continued 
to  give  oratorio  performances,  at  intervals,  until  about  a  week  before 
his  death.  He  died  in  London,  Good  Friday,  April  14,  1759,  in  his 
seventy-fifth  year.  His  large  property,  amounting  to  something  like 
£50,000  was  all  bequeathed  to  charitable  institutions.  Handel  was 

•(Those  curious  In  this  matter  can  obtain  the  full  orchestral  score  of  "The  Messiah,"  In  the 
Peters'  edition,  including  Mozart's  additions  for  about  three  dollars.) 


GEORGE  FREDERICK  HANDEL.  155 

never  married,  had  no  vices  except  an  irascible  temper,  and  seems  never 
to  have  been  in  love  but  once. 

As  an  organist,  he  was  of  the  greatest  eminence.  The  clearness 
with  which  he  expressed  his  ideas,  the  dignity  of  his  musical  thought, 
so  well  suited  to  the  organ,  together  with  his  decision  and  spirit  as  a 
performer,  combined  to  make  him  immensely  successful. 

It  is  difficult  to  define  the  relative  rank  of  Handel  and  Bach 
as  great  masters,  and  to  weigh  their  influence  on  the  course  of 
musical  development  since.  As  Brendel  well  says,  they  were  the  cul- 
mination of  musical  progress  in  their  age,  but  they  represented  oppo- 
site poles.  Bach  was  a  quiet  home-body,  writing  always  in  a  highly 
subjective  manner  out  of  the  depths  of  his  own  feeling.  Although  the 
greatest  organist  of  his  times,  and  often  listened  to  by  kings  and  lords, 
he  did  not  allow  himself  to  change  from  the  ideal  of  art  that  was  con- 
genial to  his  nature.  Handel  on  the  other  hand,  a  bustling,  energetic 
man,  of  a  truly  cosmopolitan  taste,  had  it  always  for  his  task  to  please 
and  attract  the  masses.  Resources  were  not  wanting.  He  controlled 
for  nearly  forty  years  the  best  singers  and  players  in  the  world.  His 
genius  had  every  thing  to  favor  it.  To  a  German  honesty  and  depth 
of  artistic  conception  he  united  the  Italian  art  of  clear  expression ;  yet 
all  this  with  no  sacrifice  of  the  nobility  of  his  art,  and  for  a  genius  of 
such  composition,  England,  the  land  of  common  sense,  was,  of  all  others, 
the  field  of  action.  Handel  has  done  more  to  make  the  musical  art 
respected  by  the  public  generally  than  any  other  composer.  Bach  has 
been  the  inspiration  of  musicians.  Bach  and  Handel  are  the  corner 
stones  of  Modern  Music. 

Handel  was  pre-eminently  a  composer  of  vocal  music.  In  nis 
recitatives  he  attains  a  dignified  and  truly  musical  declamation  of  the 
text,  as  we  already  saw  in  Chapter  XXXVIII,  and  occasionally  rises  to 
true  pathos.  In  his  arias  he  is  frequently  diffuse.  The  leading  motive 
is  too  many  times  turned  over.  Yet  this  fault  is  wellnigh  universal  in 
the  classical  aria,  which  is,  as  we  know,  merely  a  prolongation  of  a 
single  moment  in  the  dramatic  movement.  Besides,  this  prolixity  only 
gave  more  opportunity  to  the  prima  donna.  At  other  times,  however, 
his  arias  are  not  too  long,  even  for  the  rapid  age  we  live  in.  In  very 
many  of  them  we  find  a  close  relation  between  the  text  and  the  music, 
and  always  a  careful  consideration  for  the  voice.  .  His  style,  although 
melodious  and  thus  far  Italian,  was  distinguished  for  its  contrapuntal 
spirit,  and  its  elevation  and  dignity,  and  was  therefore  especially  suited 
to  the  oratorio.  In  his  choruses  he  rises  to  the  highest  points  yet 
reached  in  this  form  of  art.  Of  this  one  finds  very  many  examples,  of 


156  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

which  the  "Hallelujah,"  "The  Horse  and  His  Rider,"  "The  Hail- 
stone Chorus,"  "  Lift  up  Your  Heads,"  and  "  Worthy  is  the  Lamb  " 
are  known  to  all.  His  instrumental  music  is  not  so  important.  It  is 
melodious,  and  of  course  well  written,  but  in  general  somewhat  diffuse. 
Even  his  famous  organ  concertos  do  not  escape  the  charge  of  being 
commonplace. 

PROGRAMME  OF  HANDEL  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  (Moderately  Difficult,  Employing  the  Piano  and  Soprano.) 

1.  Fugue  in  E  minor  ("  Fire  Fugue"). 

2.  "  As  when  the  dove  laments  her  love,"  from  "  Acis  and  Galatea."    Soprano. 

3.  Pastoral  symphony,  from  "  Messiah." 

4.  "  How  beautiful  are  the  Feet "  (from  "  Messiah").    Soprano. 

5.  Air  and  Variations  in  E,  "  The  Harmonious  Blacksmith." 

6.  Aria,  "Lasciach'  io  Pianga,"  from  "Rinaldo." 

7.  a.  Minuet  from  Samson. 

b.  Chaconne  in  F. 

c.  March  from  occasional  Oratorio. 

8.  "  I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth."     Soprano. 

9.  Hallelujah  Chorus  from  the  "Messiah." 

(2.  Employing  Soprano,  Alto,  Tenor,  and  Chorus  with  Piano-forte.) 

1.  a.  "  Comfort  ye  my  people." 

6.  Every  Valley  shall  be  exalted.    Tenor  Solo. 
c.  Chorus  "  And  the  Glory  of  the  Lord." 

2.  a.  Minuet  from  Samson. 
6.  March  from  Joshua. 

c.  Air  Bourse  and  Double.    Arr.  by  Mason.    The  Piano-forte. 

3.  "Hope  in  the  Lord,"  Arr.  by  Mason.    Soprano. 

4.  "  O  thou  that  tellest,"  from  "  Messiah."    Alto  solo  and  Chorus. 
6.  a.  "Thy  rebuke  hath  broken  his  heart." 

b.  "  Behold  and  see  if  there  be  any  sorrow."    Tenor. 

c.  "  But  Thou  didst  not  leave  his  soul  in  hell."    From  the  "  Messiah." 

6  "How  beautiful  are  the  Feet."    Soprano. 

7  Hallelujah  Chorus,  or  "Worthy  is  the  Lamb." 


FRANCIS  JOSEPH  HAYDN.  157 


CHAPTER     FORTY- FOUR. 

FRANCIS  JOSEPH  HAYDN. 

Up  to  the  time  of  which  I  am  now  about  to  write,  the  great  crea- 
tive geniuses,  Handel  and  Bach,  had  devoted  their  efforts  to  vocal 
music;  instrumental  music  had  received  a  certain  amount  of  attention, 
it  is  true,  and  the  organ  especially  was  carried  no  further  until  the  time 
of  Mendelssohn.  But  although  Bach  and  Handel  were  not  altogether 
above  playfulness,  it  was  of  a  sort  essentially  masculine  and  earnest. 
The  light  and  easy-going  spirit  of  modern  society,  which  chiefly  culti- 
vates instrumental  music,  formed  no  part  of  Bach  or  Handel's  nature, 
and  hence  it  has  no  expression  in  their  works.  Nevertheless,  what  they 
had  done  went  far  to  render  instrumental  music  possible,  as  they  im- 
parted to  music  a  degree  of  emotional  coloring  entirely  unknown  before 
their  time.  At  the  hands  of  Handel,  also,  melody  had  assumed  more 
definite  form.  Both  these  men,  also,  were  able  to  develop  a  musical 
thought  in  a  purely  musical  spirit  (that  is,  independently  from  words, 
and  influenced  simply  by  conditions  of  symmetry  and  contrast,  as  well 
as  unity)  to  a  masterly  degree,  which  has  never  been  surpassed.  One 
of  Bach's  sons,  Carl  Philip  Emanuel,  began  the  career  of  instrumental 
music.  He  was  wonderfully  gifted  in  the  art  of  improvising,  for  which 
he  was  amply  qualified  by  the  thorough  training  he  had  received  from 
his  father.  Emanuel  Bach  was  the  father  of  the  Sonata. 

In  March,  1732,  in  the  village  of  Rohrau  (not  far  from  Vienna),  a 
certain  wheelwright,  of  a  musical  turn,  was  blessed  with  a  dark  and 
perhaps  rather  scrawny  little  son,  to  whom  was  given  the  name  of 
Francis  Joseph  Haydn.  Papa  Haydn  played  a  little  on  the  organ  and 
harp,  and  sang  with  a  fine  tenor  voice.  Sunday  afternoons,  when  his 
official  duties  as  sexton  were  over,  he  was  accustomed  to  have  a  sort  of 
concert  with  the  aid  of  his  wife.  The  little  Francis  Joseph  was  an 
interested  assistant  at  these  domestic  celebrations,  and  soon  learned  to 
add  his  own  pining  little  voice  to  the  family  concerts.  At  an  early  age 
he  went  to  Hamburg  with  his  cousin  Frank,  who  promised  to  teach 
him  music  and  Latin.  When  yet  hardly  eight  years  old  the  youngster 
became  celebrated  as  a  choir-boy,  and  very  soon  he  was  captured  by 


158  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

Reuter,  the  director  of  the  music  at  St.  Stephen's  Church  in  Vienna, 
who  used  to  make  frequent  tours  in  search  of  promising  voices  for  his 
choir.  Haydn  afterwards  said  that  all  the  time  he  was  with  Reuter 
(over  ten  years),  never  a  day  passed  in  which  he  did  not  practise  from 
sixteen  to  eighteen  hours,  although  the  boys  were  practically  their  own 
masters,  only  being  obliged  to  practice  two  hours. 

When  thirteen  years  old  he  composed  a  mass,  which  to  his  great 
chagrin  was  mercilessly  ridiculed  by  Reuter.  Haydn  presently  saw 
that  a  knowledge  of  harmony  and  counterpoint  was  essential  to  success 
in  composition.  But  who  would  teach  a  penniless  choir  boy  ?  For 
Haydn  was  absolutely  as  poor  as  poverty  itself.  Bread  and  cheese  and 
an  annual  suit  of  clothes  he  had  to  be  sure,  but  the  authorities  of  St. 
Stephen's  Church  in  Vienna  preserved  their  choir  boys  as  carefully 
from  "  the  deceitfulness  of  riches,"  as  many  churches  do  their  ministers 
now-a-days.  But  genius  is  indefatigable.  Haydn  found  a  copy  of  a 
treatise  on  counterpoint  by  Fux,  in  a  second-hand  bookstore,  and  by 
some  desperate  expedient  contrived  to  get  possession  of  it.  Now  Fux's 
book  is  in  Latin,  and  not  in  the  clearest  form.  But  Haydn  knew  there 
•were  worse  things  in  the  world  than  bad  Latin,  and  one  of  these  was 
ignorance.  So  he  "  pegged  away  "  at  it,  like  the  plucky  little  man  he 
was,  lying  a-bed  in  cold  days  to  keep  warm,  taking  his  diurnal  portion 
of  the  sorry  old  book  as  conscientiously  as  he  did  his  daily  mass  and 
dinner.  About  the  time  he  had  begun  to  get  easy  on  the  subject  of 
counterpoint,  Providence  sent  him  another  lesson. 

In  the  suite  of  the  Venetian  ambassador  at  Vienna  was  the  great 
Italian  master  and  singer,  Nicolo  Porpora.  Now  Porpora  was  a  crusty 
old  person,  and  was  not  a  man  who  at  all  looked  like  taking  up  a  pro- 
ttgt  in  the  shape  of  a  seedy  looking  little  choir  boy.  But  if  Porpora 
did  not  know  Haydn,  Haydn  did  know  Porpora,  and  that  he  was  the 
same  great  master  who  had  been  brought  over  to  London  to  rival  the 
mighty  Handel,  just  now  in  the  very  glory  of  his  fame.  So  Haydn  got 
up  early,  cleaned  the  boots,  brushed  the  coat,  and  curled  the  wig  of  the 
amiable  master,  whose  only  recognition  of  these  services  was  a  mut- 
tered "/bo^,"  when  Haydn  entered  the  room.  But,  as  Sam  Slick  dis- 
covered, "  soft  soap "  will  tell  if  persevered  in,  and  when  to  these 
civilities  was  added  the  fact  that  they  were  gratis,  and  when  the  boy 
had  proved  himself  so  useful  in  accompanying  some  of  Porpora's  songs, 
which  the  beauteous  lady  of  the  ambassador  was  fond  of  singing — at 
last  the  severity  began  to  relent,  and  Haydn  got  many  a  word  of  sound 
advice,  and  with  it  the  Italian  taste  in  singing.  Presently  the  ambas- 
sador recognized  the  young  man's  progress  by  a  pension  of  fifteen 


FRANCIS  JOSEPH   HAYDN.  159 

dollars  a  month,  and  a  seat  at  the  secretaries'  table.  Haydn  was  now 
full  of  activity;  as  soon  as  it  was  light  he  made  haste  to  the  Church  of 
the  Father  of  Mercy,  where  he  played  first  violin;  from  thence  he 
hastened  to  the  chapel  of  Count  Haugwitz,  where  he  played  the  organ; 
afterwards  he  sang  the  tenor  at  St.  Stephen's.  He  then  returned  home 
and  finished  out  the  day  at  his  piano.  If  there  is  any  one  lesson  that 
the  early  lives  of  these  composers  teach  more  plainly  than  another,  it  is 
that  laziness  is  not  a  sign  of  genius.  Hard  work  is  an  indispensable 
condition  of  success  in  any  business  that  is  worth  following.  Haydn's 
voice  broke  when  he  was  nineteen  years  old,  and  he  found  himself 
without  employment.  A  wig-maker  named  Keller  kindly  received 
him  as  a  son,  and  in  this  house  Haydn  gave  himself  more  decidedly 
to  composition.  When  he  was  twenty  he  published  six  instrumental 
trios,  which  attracted  general  attention.  The  individuality  of  his  talent 
was  more  fully  confirmed  by  his  first  quartette,  which  soon  followed. 
Presently  he  left  the  house  of  Keller,  and  found  a  boarding  place  with 
a  Mr.  Martinez,  on  condition  of  his  giving  piano  and  singing  lessons  to 
his  two  daughters.  In  the  same  house  lived  the  poet  Metastasio,  who, 
being  fond  of  music,  took  Haydn  into  his  friendship,  having  him  daily 
to  dinner  and  good  converse.  In  this  way  Haydn  picked  up  a  great 
deal  of  general  knowledge  and  some  Italian,  affording,  I  dare  say,  with 
his  simple  German  nature,  fully  as  much  as  he  gave. 

In  1758  he  entered  the  employment  of  Count  Mortzin,  as  leader 
of  his  orchestra.  In  this  capacity  some  of  his  works  attracted  the  at- 
tention of  old  Prince  Esterhazy,  who  in  1760  appointed  him  kapell- 
meister. The  old  gentleman  died  a  year  after,  but  Haydn  continued 
for  thirty  years  in  the  service  of  his  son  Nicholas,  who  died  in  1790. 
Within  the  ten  years  previous  to  this  appointment,  he  had  composed 
his  opera  "  The  Devil  on  Two  Sticks,"  a  number  of  quartettes  and 
trios,  and  just  now  his  first  symphony,  and  here  he  is  twenty-eight 
years  old.  Yet  this  short  list  of  works  was  by  no  means  all  Haydn  had 
written.  He  had  produced  an  immense  mass  of  pieces  of  every  kind, 
which  had  merely  served  the  purpose  of  giving  him  that  facility  of 
expression,  that  mastery  over  the  technics  of  his  art,  without  which  a 
genius,  however  highly  gifted,  is  curtailed  in  the  most  promising 
flights. 

The  thirty  years  that  followed  were  monotonous  in  the  extreme. 
About  two  months  of  every  year  were  spent  in  Vienna;  the  other  ten 
at  the  prince's  quiet  Hungarian  estates.  Haydn  produced  an  enormous 
list  of  pieces,  many  of  them  of  great  beauty.  They  comprise  119  sym- 
phonies, 83  quartettes,  24  trios,  19  operas,  15  masses,  163  compositions 


160  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

for  barytone  (Prince  Esterhazy's  favorite  instrument),  44  pianoforte 
sonatas,  etc. 

Haydn  appears  to  havj  been  unconscious  of  the  immense  reputa- 
tion he  had  achieved  throughout  Europe,  and  was  never  more  aston- 
ished than  when,  soon  after  Prince  Esterhazy's  death,  a  stranger  burst 
into  his  room,  saying,  "  I  am  Salomon  of  London,  and  am  come  to  carry 
you  off  with  me;  we  will  strike  a  bargain  to-morrow."  "Oh,  papa," 
said  the  youthful  Mozart,  "you  have  had  no  education  for  the  wide, 
wide  world,  and  you  speak  too  few  languages."  "  Oh,  my  language," 
replied  the  papa  with  a  smile,  "  is  understood  all  over  the  world." 
And  so  at  the  age  of  sixty,  in  the  full  maturity  of  his  powers,  came 
Haydn  to  London.  Here  in  little  more  than  a  year  he  wrote  six 
new  symphonies,  and  many  other  smaller  things.  These  symphonies 
were  brought  out  as  novelties,  Haydn  conducting  in  person,  seated  at 
the  piano. 

The  bustle  of  London  and  the  favor  with  which  he  was  received 
struck  Haydn  favorably.  "He  tells  us*  how  he  enjoyed  himself  at  the 
civic  feast  in  company  with  William  Pitt,  Lord  Chancellor,  and  the 
Duke  of  Lids  (Leeds).  He  says,  after  dinner  the  highest  nobility — 
i.  e.  the  Lord  Mayor  and  his  wife  (!) — were  seated  on  a  throne.  In 
another  room,  the  gentlemen,  as  usual,  drank  freely  all  night;  and  the 
songs  and  the  crazy  uproar  and  the  smashing  of  glasses  were  very 
great.  The  oil  lamps  smelt  terribly,  and  the  dinner  cost  £6,000.  He 
went  down  to  stay  with  thr  Prince  of  Wales  (George  IV.),  and  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds  painted  his  portrait.  The  Prince  played  the  violon- 
cello not  badly,  and  charmed  Haydn  by  his  affability.  'He  is  the 
handsomest  man  on  God's  earth.  He  has  an  extraordinary  love  of 
music,  and  a  great  deal  of  feeling,  but  very  little  money.'  From  the 
palace  he  passed  to  the  laboratory  and  was  introduced  to  Herschel,  in 
whom  he  was  delighted  to  find  an  old  ob(5e  player.  The  big  telescope 
astonished  him,  so  did  the  astronomer.  'He  often  sits  out  of  doors  in 
the  most  intense  cold  for  five  or  six  hours  at  a  time."' 

In  1792  Haydn  returned  to  Vienna,  where  he  brought  out  iurf  new 
symphonies.  In  1795  he  was  back  again  in  London,  and  earned  no  less 
than  12,000  florins  (five  or  six  thousand  dollars).  He  bought  him  a 
little  home  near  Vienna,  where  he  passed  the  remnant  of  his  days  in 
peace  and  quiet.  In  1795  he  began,  and  in  1798  finished  his  cantata 
or  oratorio  "  The  Creation,"  which  we  commonly  speak  of  as  his  greatest 
work.  Haydn  died  at  the  age  of  seventy-seven,  in  1809,  and  was 
buried  in  the  cemetery  of  Gumpfendorf,  Vienna. 

*"  Music  and  Morals." 


FRANCIS  JOSEPH   HAYDN.  161 

Haydn's  works  number  about  eight  hundred,  many  of  them  of 
small  value,  yet  all  finished  with  great  care.  I  hardly  know  whether 
in  strict  justice  we  ought  to  accord  Haydn  the  greater  honor  as  a  vocal 
or  instrumental  composer;  for,  although  his  works  in  the  line  of  cham- 
ber music  and  symphony  have  exercised  the  greatest  influence  upon 
composers,  his  "Creation"  has  been  very  influential  (in  this  country  at 
least)  in  educating  the  taste  of  the  public.  It  is  the  one  oratorio  that 
receives  the  earliest  attention  of  amateur  societies,  a  pre-eminence  it 
well  deserves  from  the  grace  and  sweetness  of  its  ideas,  and  the  elegance 
with  which  they  are  worked  out.  And  although  "  The  Creation  "  ap- 
pears somewhat  childlike  and  bland,  for  a  work  in  severe  style  (espe- 
cially when  compared  with  Handel's  "  Messiah "  or  "  Israel,"  Bach's 
"  Passion's  Music,"  or  even  Mendelssohn's  "  Elijah"),  we  can  not  deny 
the  consummate  grace  of  the  lovely  airs  "  With  verdure  clad,"  and 
"On  mighty  pens,"  or  the  almost  operatic  sweetness  of  the  trio  "On 
thee  each  living  soul  awaits,"  and  the  concerted  duet  "  By  thee  with 
bliss."  "  The  heavens  are  telling "  has  been  universally  a  fav- 
orite. 

Nevertheless  the  critic  turns  from  this  work,  which  in  every  trait 
except  grace  and  sweetness  has  been  far  surpassed,  to  the  quartettes; 
and  here,  as  the  conditions  have  remained  substantially  the  same  from 
his  time  until  now,  Haydn  has  not  been  so  far  out-ranked.  Mozart  had 
a  livelier  imagination,  Beethoven  and  Schumann  more  of  Bach's 
earnestness.  Haydn's  music,  even  in  its  most  elaborate  moments,  is 
simple  in  its  essential  nature — the  expression  of  a  child-like,  contented 
soul,  so  completely  well  bred  as  almost  to  seem  never  to  ha-ve  required 
training. 

As  an  orchestral  writer  Haydn  made  enormous  advances.  He 
gave  the  symphony  the  systematic  development  of  the  sonata  form,  in- 
troduced many  new  combinations,  and  established  the  type  of  the 
Andante  cantabile  movement,  which  Mozart  and  Beethoven  afterwards 
carried  to  so  great  a  perfection. 

His  pianoforte  compositions  sound  narrow  and  old  fashioned. 

In  the  mere  fact  of  producing  so  much  of  a  somewhat  uniform 
texture,  Haydn  did  a  great  deal  for  the  cultivation  of  instrumental 
music.  He  seems  always  to  have  had  a  singularly  accurate  idea  of  the 
practical  and  the  available.  We  may  be  sure  both  that  he  was  a 
pleasant  man  to  get  along  with,  and  an  agreeable  writer,  or  he  would 
not  have  remained  so  long  in  one  position. 

Haydn  attached  small  importance  to  the  actual  substance  of  the 
germinal  ideas  in  his  works.  He  had  such  consummate  art  that  he 
il 


162  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

\ 

could  work  up  the  most  commonplace  ideas  into  an    attractive  and 
beautiful  whole.     He  said  the  treatment  was  every  thing. 

LIST  OF  HAYDN  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

(Employing  Soprano,  Tenor,  Bass,  and  the  Pianoforte.) 

1.  Sonata  in  E  Sat. 

2.  "  My  Mother  Bids  me  Bind  my  Hair,"  Soprano. 
8.  Minuet  in  C  (Oxen  Minuet) . 

4.  "  In  Native  Worth,"  Tenor. 

5.  Variations  on  "  God  Save  the  Emperor"  (Haydn  Album,  p.  38). 

6.  "  Now  Heaven  in  Fullest  Glory  Shone,"  Bass. 

7.  Symphony  in  D  for  four  hands  (No.  5  Peters'  Edition). 

8.  Trio,  "  On  Thee  each  Living  Soul  Awaits,"  Soprano,  Tenor,  and  Bass. 


CHAPTER    FORTY-FIVE. 

MOZART. 

Rarely  does  it  fall  to  the  lot  of  a  writer  to  undertake  a  more  genial 
task  than  to  sketch  the  short  life  of  Wolfgang  Amadeus  Mozart,  born 
at  Salzburg,  about  a  hundred  miles  from  Vienna,  January  27,  1756 — a 
life  of  such  marvellous  richness  as  to  give  to  a  sober  account  the  air  of 
liveliest  romance.  Bach  had  died  only  six  years  before.  Handel  was 
in  his  old  age  and  blindness,  and  died  three  years  later  ;  Haydn  was  in 
the  very  pinch  of  his  hardest  fortunes,  living  in  the  house  with  Metas- 
tasio,  as  previously  recorded.  Yet  these  proximities  of  dates  look  far 
more  significant  to  us  now  than  they  could  have  looked  a  hundred  years 
ago;  for  then  there  were  many  other  composers  of  great  talents  who 
contested  with  these  giants  the  claim  to  immortality.  The  century 
that  has  intervened  has  been  very  busy  in  analyzing  and  sifting  their 
productions,  and  this  has  finally  resulted  in  giving  due  honor  to  these 
great  ones,  who  the  more  they  have  been  weighed  in  the  balance  have 
proven  themselves  the  more  worthy. 

Leopold  Mozart,  the  father,  was  himself  a  musician  of  marked 
talent.  He  published  an  instruction  book  for  the  violin  and  held  a  place 
as  court  musician  with  the  Archbishop  of  Salzburg.  When  Wolfgang 
was  three  years  old  his  talent  for  music  began  to  manifest  itself. 
When  he  was  four  years  old  he  could  play  a  number  of  minuets  and 


MOZART.  163 

the  like,  and  learned  with  wonderful  facility.  He  found  out  for  himself 
thirds  and  other  concords.  When  yet  under  six  years  old  his  father 
found  him  one  day  writing  something  which  he  called  a  "  concerto  for 
the  harpsichord."  The  father  of  course  laughed  at  such  a  work  by  a 
mere  baby,  but  the  little  fellow  insisted  that  it  was  really  a  concerto, 
and  on  examination  it  proved  to  be  written  strictly  according  to  rule, 
although  so  overloaded  with  difficulties  as  to  be  impossible.  When  a 
little  over  six  years  old  he  performed  at  the  court  of  Francis  I.,  at 
Munich,  with  his  eldest  sister,  where  his  wonderful  gifts  excited  the 
greatest  astonishment.  Still  it  is  but  just  to  say  that  child-virtuosity 
was  of  much  easier  attainment  then  than  now,  for  the  pianos  of  that  day 
were  very  small,  the  touch  light,  and  the  compositions  in  vogue  were  of 
an  amiable  and  unimpassioned  character. 

Presently  young  Wolfgang  learned  the  violin,  and  surprised  his 
father  by  playing  correctly  in  a  quartette.  Of  anecdotes  of  this  kind 
the  Mozart  biographies  are  full.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  during  his  first 
twelve  years  his  talent  shone  out  brighter  and  brighter,  and  on  all 
hands  he  received  the  warmest  approbation,  yet  he  never  became  a 
spoiled  child.  He  was  of  a  gentle,  confiding  disposition,  of  a  sweet 
and  even  temper,  fond  of  play — a  queer  compound  of  manly  talent  and 
skill  with  childish  tastes  and  habits.  He  spent  some  three  years  in 
traveling,  visiting  France,  England  and  Holland — his  public  life  as  a 
youthful  virtuoso  being  supplemented  by  regular  and  daily  studies  in 
musical  theory,  and  the  regular  branches  of  a  polite  education.  In  this 
way  he  learned  French,  Latin  and  Italian.  In  1767  or  so  he  visited 
Vienna,  and  composed  a  small  opera,  which,  however,  was  never  per- 
formed. By  the  command  of  the  Emperor,  he  wrote  a  mass  for  the 
dedication  of  the  new  Waisenhaus  church,  and  conducted  with  baton 
in  hand.  When  scarcely  twelve  years  old,  he  was  appointed  concert- 
meister  by  the  Archbishop  of  Salzburg,  and  within  the  next  year  wrote 
a  number  of  masses. 

But  his  father  was  anxious  that  Wolfgang  should  become  known 
in  Italy,  which  was  at  that  time  the  fountain  of  musical  inspiration.  So 
in  December,  1769,  they  set  off  for  Italy,  staying  some  months  in  Rome, 
Bologna,  Florence  Milan,  etc.  The  Pope  made  him  a  "  knight  of  the 
golden  spur." 

The  most  significant  triumph  of  this  tour  was  his  admission  as  a 
member  of  the  Philharmonic  Academy  of  Bologna,  at  that  time  the 
highest  musical  authority  in  the  world.  At  its  head  was  the  learned 
contrapuntist,  Father  Martini,  and  at  his  right  hand  the  great  singer, 
Farinelli,  also  a  learned  musician.  These  men  and  the  members  of 


164  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

the  Academy  generally  recognized  Mozart's  genius  as  a  performer,  but 
no  one  could  believe  that  a  boy  of  twelve  could  pass  triumphantly 
through  the  severe  tests  in  counterpoint  required  of  candidates  for  ad- 
mission. Nevertheless,  Padre  Martini  rightly  judged  that  the  extreme 
youth  of  Mozart  made  it  necessary  that  his  admission  to  the  distin- 
guished honor  of  membership  should  be  justified  to  the  world  by  the 
severest  tests  ever  assigned.  This  task  was  the  composition  for  four 
voices  of  one  of  the  canticles  of  the  Roman  Antiphonarium.  The  work 
was  to  be  treated  according  to  severe  rules,  and  performed  within  three 
hours  in  a  locked-up  room — the  Academy  waiting  as  patiently  as  they 
might  in  order  to  judge  the  work  as  soon  as  it  was  accomplished.  Men 
who  regarded  themselves  great  masters  had  often  failed  in  this  task,  con- 
suming the  whole  time  in  the  production  of  a  few  lines.  It  was  there- 
fore with  no  small  misgivings  that  Father  Martini  delivered  to  the  hope- 
ful Mozart  the  task  which  was  to  announce  his  manhood  in  the  most 
difficult  department  of  musical  theory.  But  great  was  his  surprise,  when 
after  little  more  than  a  half  hour  the  beadle  came  in  saying  that  the 
young  Mozart  declared  himself  ready  to  be  let  out,  having  finished  the 
task. 

"  Impossible  !"  said  many  of  the  members.  "  In  the  hundred 
years  the  Academy  had  been  established  such  a  case  had  never  occur- 
red." Nevertheless,  when  the  committee,  proceeded  to  Mozart's  room 
they  received  from  him  a  manuscript,  written  in  his  usual  neat  and 
delicate  hand;  and  after  careful  scrutiny  they  were  compelled  to  admit 
that  it  contained  no  faults  whatever.  I  may  add  that  it  took  the  old 
doctors  about  an  hour  to  go  through  the  paper  thoroughly  enough  to 
convince  themselves  that  Mozart's  rapid  work  was  faultless.  The  young 
composer  was  then  led  in,  and  the  whole  Academy  greeted  him  with 
hearty  applause,  and  recognized  in  him  an  accomplished  Maestro,  and 
a  Knight  of  Harmony. 

Now,  the  gratifying  point  of  this  transaction  is,  that  this  highly 
gifted  boy,  traveling  from  place  to  place,  playing  in  public  almost 
daily,  found  time  for  such  thorough  study  as  to  be  able  at  the  childish 
age  of  twelve  to  meet  and  conquer  the  most  learned  theorists  on  their 
own  ground.  And  better  than  this,  he  does  not  seem  to  have  been 
puffed  up  by  his  success;  to  him  it  was  not  difficult,  and  while  proud  of 
the  commendation  of  these  learned  men,  and  of  having  proven  himself 
a  master,  we  find  his  letters  just  as  simple,  and  child-like,  and  modest 
as  before. 

After  this  Italian  tour  Mozart  returned  to  Salzburg,  which,  how- 
ever, he  soon  left  for  Munich.  But  his  future  ups  and  downs  we  have 


MOZART.  165 

not  room  to  follow;  for,  unlike  Bacli,  Handel  and  Haydn,  whose  lives 
embraced  long  periods  of  twenty  years  and  more  passed  in  one  place, 
Mozart  was  rarely  more  than  a  few  years  in  a  place,  except  his  last  ten 
years,  which  he  spent  in  Vienna.  It  is  the  more  difficult  to  bring  his 
life  into  a  sketch  from  the  fact  that  he  went  much  into  society,  and  has 
left  on  record  a  large  collection  of  letters  which  give  a  very  graphic 
picture  of  life  at  that  time.  These  letters  fill  two  volumes,  and  are  well 
worth  reading.  The  little  book  called  "Mozart's  Early  Days,"  lately 
published,  gives  a  very  lively  and  entertaining  account  of  his  life  up  to 
the  time  of  his  triumph  in  the  Bologna  Academy.  Lee  &  Shepard  also 
publish  a  book — "  Mozart  and  Mendelssohn  " — which  not  only  gives  a 
succinct  account  of  his  life,  but  a  great  deal  of  interesting  information 
about  his  music.  To  these  sources  I  beg  to  refer  the  reader  for  the 
details  of  Mozart's  marriage  and  later  life,  assuring  them  that  only  in 
the  life  of  Mendelssohn  do  we  find  equally  rich  musical  materials. 

In  1779  Mozart  produced  his  opera,  "  Idomeneo,"  the  first  upon 
which  his  present  fame  rests.  It  was  followed  during  the  next  ten 
years  by  "  The  Marriage  of  Figaro,"  "  Don  Juan,"  and  "  The  Magic 
Flute,"  which  comprise  his  master-pieces  in  this  department  of  com- 
position. These  operas  showed  a  marked  advance  over  similar  works 
of  preceding  composers,  chiefly  in  their  wealth  of  imagination  ajid  fancy, 
and  especially  in  their  geniality.  They  were  in  the  first  place  musical 
to  a  high  degree,  and  this  in  spite  of  the  unquestionable  science  dis- 
played in  the  concerted  pieces.  What  was  the  state  of  music  as  left 
by  Mozart's  predecessors?  Handel  gave  a  clear  form  to  melody, 
but  we  rarely  find  him  successful  in  avoiding  prolixity.  His  greatest 
songs  are  open  to  this  charge.  In  the  line  of  delicate  sentiment  he  was 
also  out  of  his  element  to  a  degree  not  always  admitted  by  his  admirers. 
He  was  fully  successful  only  in  a  certain  rude  and  genial  energy,  and 
in  setting  passages  of  such  overpowering  emotional  import  as  to  carry 
him  beyond  himself.  In  such  airs  as,  "  Oh,  ruddier  than  the  cherry," 
we  find,  to  be  sure,  freshness  to  the  last  degree  gratifying,  yet  it  is  not 
sentimental  music. 

Haydn,  as  we  have  already  seen,  developed  musical  life  as  such; 
for,  in  his  manifold  symphonies  and  quartettes,  we  find  musical  motives 
worked  out  in  a  manner  at  once  elegant  and  musical,  and  essentially 
independent  of  words  for  their  explanation.  At  the  same  time,  Haydn 
was  simply  genial  and  good  natured  and  not,  in  a  high  degree,  poetic  or 
imaginative,  still  less  dramatic.  His  "Creation,"  indeed,  was  written 
after  Mozart's  death,  and  here  Haydn  builds  on  Mozart,  notwithstand- 
ing that  twelve  or  fifteen  years  before  Mozart  had  built  his  first  sym- 
phonies on  Haydn's  foundation. 


lOfi  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

In  Mozart's  operas  we  find  the  orchestra  treated  with  a  fullness 
greater  than  in  the  Haydn  symphonies.  An  equally  masterly  working 
out  of  germinal  ideas  meets  us  here,  but  how  changed  !  Mozart  had 
rich  imagination,  and  no  small  amount  of  the  dramatic  spirit.  He  had 
studied  singing  thoroughly,  and  well  knew  what  was  suitable  for  the 
voice.  Still  better,  he  knew  what  would  please  the  public.  And  those 
amateurs  who  hold  up  their  hands  in  blind  worship  of  Mozart's  operas 
(as  some  literary  men  do  of  every  thing  bearing  the  name  of  Shake- 
speare), imagining  that  he  evolved  them  out  of  a  prophetic  inner  con- 
sciousness, a  striving  after  the  ideal,  with  no  consideration  for  the  ap- 
proval of  the  public  of  the  day,  show  in  this  a  strange  ignorance  of  the 
man  and  his  music.  What  is  there  in  "  Figaro,"  1  ask,  unappreciable 
by  the  Prague  public  of  1787?  Nothing  at  all!  Of  this  the  best  proof 
is  that  it  was  played  the  whole  Winter  long  in  that  theater  where  first 
brought  out.  It  is  not  the  fate  of  prophetic  masterpieces  (music  of  the 
future)  to  succeed  at  once  with  the  theater-going  public  like  that. 

Let  it  suffice  for  the  operatic  fame  of  Mozart  to  say  that  he  first 
wrote  melodies  of  matchless  grace  (see  "Vedrai  Carino"  in  Don  Juan) 
and  the  most  genial  and  bewitching  sentiment.  It  was  the  beautiful 
especially  in  its  lighter  aspects  that  Mozart  came  to  reveal.  These  be- 
witching strains  of  opera,  ground  on  hand  organs,  sung  by  amateurs, 
and  strummed  on  pianos  the  world  over,  were  exactly  the  new  revela- 
tion needed  to  render  music  a  household  word  among  all  enlightened 
people. 

Mozart's  indifference  to  all  but  music  is  further  shown  by  his  find- 
ing himself  able  to  set  such  objectionable  texts  as  "  Figaro"  and  "Don 
Juan;"  this,  as  we  shall  hereafter  see,  would  have  been  impossible  for 
Beethoven  or  Mendelssohn,  or  for  any  man  of  sensitive  moral  earnest- 
ness. Nor  do  I  find  myself  able  to  attribute  to  Mozart  the  dramatic 
ability  many  think  they  find  in  his  works.  But  to  discuss  this  would 
take  me  too  far.  In  the  opera,  then,  we  see  Mozart  reaching  the 
highest  triumphs  of  his  age,  namely,  fascinating  and  individualized 
melodies,  the  loveliest  instrumentation,  and  a  high  degree  of  dramatic 
contrast. 

In  the  symphony  his  success  was  almost  equally  great — although 
he  gives  no  foreboding  of  the  transition  from  the  purely  musical  sym- 
phony of  Haydn  to  the  tone-poem  symphony  of  Beethoven.  His  great 
art  is  in  the  increased  wealth  of  instrumentation  he  displayed,  more 
dramatic  contrast,  and  an  incomparable  elegance  and  fascination  ot 
style. 

Mozart  left  a  great  many  string  quartettes,  duos,  etc.,  of  the  most 


MOZART.  167 

lovely  character.  In  this  kind  of  composition  he  was  eminently  suc- 
cessful, as  the  instruments  and  the  sphere  of  that  kind  of  music  were 
as  well  understood  then  as  now. 

His  pianoforte  sonatas,  though  much  talked  about  in  school  cata- 
logues and  the  like,  are  really  old  fashioned,  narrow  and  meagre  works; 
possessing,  indeed,  beautiful  ideas,  yet,  on  the  whole,  so  far  inferior  to 
more  recent  productions  as  to  convey  but  an  extremely  imperfect  idea 
of  Mozart's  real  powers. 

Of  his  church  writing  much  might  be  said.  He  left  a  large  num- 
ber of  masses,  nearly  all  composed  before  he  was  twenty,  and,  therefore, 
full  of  a  lively  spirit  of  cheerfulness  and  hope,  but  not  characterized  by 
the  deep  and  reverent  devotion  of  Bach  or  Handel.  Mozart  was  not 
distinctively  a  religious  writer,  but  a  worldly.  He  was  fond  of  dancing, 
of  society,  loved  every  beautiful  woman,  liked  a  glass  of  wine,  and  in 
every  thing  was  the  opposite  of  the  ascetic,  self-forgetful  church  com- 
poser. Still,  these  works  contain  many  beautiful  movements,  and  give 
another  side  of  the  richly  endowed  Mozart  nature.  The  last  of  the  so- 
called  sacred  works  was  the  Requiem^  written  shortly  before  his  death, 
under  the  circumstances  so  well  known  as  not  to  require  recounting 
here.  This  "  Mass  for  the  Dead "  is  a  fitting  climax  to  the  life  of  the 
great  composer. 

One  of  the  most  useful  services  of  Mozart  was  the  addition  of  wind 
and  brass  parts  to  the  score  of  Handel's  "  Messiah  " —  a  helpful  act 
which  has  undoubtedly  done  much  to  prolong  the  popularity  of  that 
sublime  masterpiece.  Mozart  died  on  December  5,  1792,  at  the  early 
age  of  thirty-five,  worn  out  by  hard  work  and  too  much  society. 

It  deserves  to  be  remembered  that  while  this  great  master  was  en- 
dowed by  God  with  a  wealth  of  musical  inspiration,  so  that  in  this  re- 
spect  no  one  has  yet  surpassed  him,  he  found  time  to  thoroughly  study 
the  works  of  his  predecessors — especially  of  Bach,  Handel,  Gliick  and 
Haydn;  and  thought  himself  not  above  the  drudgery  of  mastering  the 
theoretical  principles  of  his  art;  and  in  this  way  only  did  he  contrive 
to  leave  on  record  such  a  brilliant  list  of  beautiful  creations. 

PROGRAMME  OF  MOZART  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  (Employing  Soprano  and  Pianoforte). 

1.  Symphony  in  C,  "Jupiter,"  for  4  hands,  The  Piano. 

2.  Air,"Vedrai  Carino"  from  "Don  Juan," Soprano. 

3.  Air,  "  Voi  Che  Sapete  "  from  "Figaro,"  Soprano. 

4.  a.  March  from  the  Magic  Flute. 

6.  Menuet  in  E  flat,  arranged  by  Schulhoff,  The  Pianoforte. 

5.  Air/'  Dove  Sono"  from  "  Figaro,"  Soprano. 

6.  The  Overture  to  "Figaro"  for  four  hands,  The  Piano. 


168  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 


CHAPTER   FORTY-SIX. 

BEETHOVEN. 

All  our  studies  throughout  this  course  have  revolved  around 
Beethoven.  His  works  furnished  a  part  of  the  illustrations  of  the  very 
first  lesson,  and  there  is  scarcely  one  of  the  thirty-seven  practical  les- 
sons in  the  present  course  where  his  name  does  not  appear.  Not  only 
is  this  the  greatest  name  in  Music,  but  it  is  one  of  the  greatest  that 
has  appeared  in  Art.  When  men  think  of  the  grace  and  refinement 
and  incomparable  beauty  of  his  work,  they  call  him  the  Raphael  of 
music,  although  such  a  title  by  right  should  belong  to  Mozart.  When 
they  listen  to  the  Heroic  Symphony  or  the  Mass  in  D  minor,  they 
call  him  the  Michael  Angelo,  or  the  Milton  of  music.  But  both  these 
are  misnomers.  Others  call  him  the  Dante  of  the  tone-art,  or  the 
Shakespeare.  These,  also,  are  unfruitful  suggestions.  There  is  no 
Shakespeare  in  music,  nor  can  be;  the  arts  are  too  dissimilar.  For 
the  same  reason  there  is  no  Raphael,  nor  Tintoret,  nor  Angelo  in  tones. 
Mozart  had  a  grace  and  sweetness  equal  to  that  of  Raphael's.  But  be- 
sides these  qualities  there  is  in  Mozart's  work  a  simplicity  and  unaf- 
fected naivete  peculiar  to  him.  The  grandeur  and  seriousness  of 
Milton  exist  in  music  also,  and  in  greater  measure,  but  without  the 
labored  and  somewhat  pedantic  form  of  Milton's  phraseology. 

What  we  do  have  in  Beethoven  is  a  genius  of  as  pure  a  ray  as  the 
world  has  ever  -seen.  .  He  was  not  technically  the  most  scientific  of 
great  composers.  Bach,  Handel,  Haydn  and  even  the  genial  and  spon- 
taneous Mozart,  wrote  smoother  counterpoint,  and  traveled  more  easily 
within  the  lines  of  fugue.  Yet  Beethoven  knew  Music  better  than 
any  of  these,  and  left  works  which  out-rank  theirs  in  every  direction 
except  that  of  purely  formal  phraseology.  What  was  it  then,  in  which 
Beethoven  excelled?  And  wherein  lies  the  secret  of  the  estimation  in 
which  he  is  held  by  the  whole  civilized  world? 

Beethoven's  greatness  as  a  composer,  and  his  influence  upon  the 
development  of  music  since  his  day,  lies  in  one  point,  namely,  his  intui- 
tion of  the  relation  of  music  to  emotion.  As  already  pointed  out,  Bach 
wrote  more  learnedly,  Handel,  at  times,  quite  as  heartily,  Haydn  as 


BEETHOVEN.  169 

clearly,  and  Mozart  as  sweetly;  but  what  Beethoven  does  is  to  avail 
himself  of  all  these  excellencies  of  form  and  substance,  in  order  to  ex- 
press  feeling  through  them.  The  greatest  of  his  predecessors,  Bach, 
also  had  feeling  and  expressed  it  in  his  Passion  Music  with  great 
power.  But  his  style  is  not  easy,  the  phraseology  is  too  learned.  It 
seems  to  us  cold.  The  composers  after  him  relapsed  his  severity,  as  we 
have  seen.  Through  Handel,  the  sons  of  Bach,  Haydn,  and  Mozart  — 
the  World  and  Art  were  drawing  nearer  each  other.  In  Beethoven 
they  coalesce.  And  so  it  is  the  proud  pre-eminence  of  this  Master  to 
have  expressed  his  soul  in  music  as  fully  and  as  exclusively  as  Shakes- 
peare expressed  his  in  his  plays,  or  Raphael  in  his  cartoons,  and  with 
such  force  and  range  of  imagination,  and  such  exquisite  propriety  of 
diction,  that  all  the  world  immediately  listens  to  him.  Like  all  these 
geniuses  of  the  very  highest  rank,  his  soul  is  in  his  works.  His  daily 
life  is  nothing.  He  is  never  a  citizen,  magistrate,  a  teacher,  a  writer, 
a  talker,  or  a  man  of  property;  but  always  and  only  a  creative  Artist. 
In  early  life  he  was,  indeed,  a  virtuoso,  not  through  study  and  drud- 
gery, but  by  sheer  force  of  the  overmastering  inspiration  within  him. 
The  world  used  him,  how  shall  we  say?  Well,  or  badly?  If  we 
reflect  upon  his  humble  origin,  his  steady  elevation  during  his  life- 
time into  the  highest  estimation  ever  accorded  a  musician  and  com- 
poser, his  comparative  immunity  from  want  or  the  necessity  of  drudg- 
ing toil  either  in  teaching  or  playing,  and  this  through  the  ready  sale 
of  the  productions  of  his  pen — we  must  say  well.  On  the  other  hand, 
if  we  think  of  his  lack  of  education  or  early  training,  his  solitary  life, 
his  graceless  nephew,  his  deafness  and  his  suspicious  and  difficult  habit 
of  mind, — in  these  we  recognize  the  unfavorable  side  of  his  relation 
to  the  world;  and  when  we  think  that  all  this  befell  one  whose  creations 
have  added  delight  and  beauty  to  the  daily  lives,  not  only  of  his  con- 
temporaries and  compatriots,  but  to  that  of  the  whole  civilized  world 
in  three  generations,  we  can  not  help  perceiving  here  a  certain  disso- 
nance the  resolution  of  which  we  are  not  able  to  trace. 

It  is  our  difficult  task,  therefore,  to  outline  the  life  of  this  man,  to 
describe  his  surroundings  and  personal  peculiarities,  and  to  trace  his 
mode  of  outward  life,  so  as  to  bring  him  before  our  minds  in  some  re- 
semblance to  the  form  he  wore  in  the  eyes  of  his  neighbors  and  friends; 
and  yet  along  with  this,  to  trace,  in  his  works,  the  transcendently  beau- 
tiful operations  of  his  mind  and  inner  nature,  and  to  hold  them  up  as 
the  true  expression  of  the  Beethoven  soul,  which  they  most  certainly 
were.  If  in  doing  this  we  might  also  unite  both  pictures  into  one,  so 
that  we  could  think  of  Beethoven  as  a  humbly-born,  hardworking  boy, 


170  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

of  the  most  determined  "grit,"  yet  with  a  delicacy  and  sweetness  of 
fancy  which  is  absolutely  nobler  than  even  Shakespeare's  (for  Beetho- 
ven nowhere  descends  to  coarseness),  and  then  trace  his  growth  to  man- 
hood, his  steady  pursuit  of  his  one  ideal,  Music,  the  blessing  that 
followed  him  in  it,  and  that  has  followed  us  for  his  being  in  it;  and 
crown  the  whole  with  the  still  nobler  side  of  his  nature  in  his  un- 
selfish and  well-meant  love  and  providence  for  a  graceless  relative, 
when  he  himself  was,  as  we  ordinarily  say,  "a  crusty  old  bachelor"  of 
fifty; — if  we  could  bring  all  these  together  into  a  single  consistent 
idea  we  should  then  have  performed  for  the  reader  a  service 
indeed. 

Ludwig  van  Beethoven  was  born  at  Bonn,  the  Residenz-Stadt  of 
the  Electors  of  Cologne,  in  1770.  His  father  was  tenor  singer  in  the 
Elector's  Chapel,  an  ill-natured,  drunken  fellow  with  a  shiftless,  easy- 
going wife.  They  lived  in  a  very  humble  way,  the  annual  income  of 
the  family  being  probably  less  than  three  hundred  dollars.  As  Mo- 
zart was  just  then  at  the  height  of  his  celebrity,  the  father  of  our 
Beethoven  was  in  no  small  degree  delighted  to  observe  the  promising 
musical  talent  of  the  boy — a  talent  which  manifested  itself  at  a  very 
early  age.  There  was  music  in  the  family,  unquestionably — Beetho- 
ven's grandfather  having  been  an  organist  and  a  composer  of  credita- 
ble talent.  So  at  the  early  age  of  five  he  was  taken  in  hand  by  his  father 
and  set  to  work  in  the  laborious  German  fashion  to  learn  to  play  the 
piano  and  the  violin.  The  crusty  father  is  said  to  have  pulled  him 
out  of  bed  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  to  make  him  finish  up  the  prac- 
tice he  had  neglected.  Nor  was  the  practice  sweetened  for  him;  for 
the  boy  was  not  allowed  to  play  melodies,  many  of  which  came  to  him 
even  then  untaught,  but  only  the  exercises  then  most  approved  for 
practice. 

At  that  time  tne  works  of  Bach  held  high  honor  for  purposes  of 
study,  and  the  boy  Beethoven  was  so  thoroughly  exercised  in  them 
that  at  the  age  of  twelve  he  was  perfectly  familiar  with  the  entire 
forty-eight  preludes  and  fugues  of  the  "  Well  Tempered  Clavier,"  and 
could  play  them  with  the  utmost  facility.  All  this  time  he  went  to 
the  public  school,  but  owing  to  his  father's  ambition  to  bring  him  out 
as  a  musical  wonder-child,  his  studies  in  letters  were  seriously  neg- 
lected. When  the  boy  was  about  eight  years  old  his  father  turned 
him  over  to  the  teaching  of  one  Pfieffer,  an  oboe  player  and  pianist, 
under  whose  kindlier  direction  he  got  along  more  rapidly  and  no  doubt 
much  more  pleasantly.  Presently  the  organist  Neefe  took  him  in  hand 
and  taught  him  the  organ  and  composition,  so  that  when  twelve  or 


BEETHOVE.N.  171 

thirteen  years  old  he    appears   as  author  of  three  sonatas  for  piano, 
which  are  small,  but  very  clever  for  a  boy. 

For  some  time,  probably  since  his  tenth  year,  he  had  played  a 
viola  in  the  orchestra.  About  this  time  he  became  assistant  organist 
to  Neefe,  although  the  formal  appointment  was  not  received  until 
he  was  about  fifteen.  When  he  was  about  thirteen,  he  began  to  act 
as  pianist  and  assistant  director  in  the  orchestra  during  Neefe's  ab- 
sence, which  frequently  extended  over  several  months.  The  duties  of 
this  position  were  not  small.  High  Mass  was  performed  in  church 
three  times  a  week  besides  Sunday,  and  on  at  least  as  many  days  there 
were  elaborate  vesper  services.  The  theater  gave  a  light  opera  or 
operetta  three  times  a  week,  and  comedies  on  other  nights,  for  all  of 
which  music  had  to  be  prepared.  This  kind  of  activity  seems  to  have 
continued  until  Beethoven  was  about  twenty,  interrupted  only  by  his 
first  visit  to  Vienna,  where  he  somehow  managed  to  go  when  he  was 
about  sixteen.  Beethoven's  duties  as  organist  must  have  been  very 
unthankful,  since  the  old  organ  had  been  removed  from  the  chapel,  and 
in  his  time  only  a  small  chamber-organ  stood  in  its  place.  That  he 
had  no  special  vocation  for  the  organ  appears  plainly  from  his  never 
having  written  anything  for  it.  The  particulars  of  his  Vienna  journey 
are  ratfher  hypothetical,  especially  the  anecdote  of  his  having  played 
before  Mozart  and  receiving  lessons  from  him. 

During  all  these  years  he  attained  no  recognition  in  Bonn  as  a 
promising  artist.  On  the  several  lists  of  the  Elector's  musical  staff, 
the  name  of  Beethoven  figures  as  organist  and  player  of  clavier  con- 
certos, but  amid  many  who  are  distinguished  as  of  exceptional  talent, 
he  stands  unnoticed  and  undistinguished. 

The  theater  at  Bonn  produced  a  fine  selection  of  works  for  that 
day,  among  which  were  the  best  of  Gliick's  operas.  On  the  whole  we 
can  hardly  imagine  a  place  better  calculated  to  familiarize  a  young 
composer  with  every  slightest  peculiarity  of  the  composers  before  his 
day,  than  Beethoven  found  in  his  six  years'  service  as  assistant  director 
at  Bonn.  In  the  work  of  arranging  and  adapting  the  scores  to  the 
limitations  and  weaknesses  of  his  orchestra,  he  could  not  fr.il  to  acquire 
rare  tact,  and  a  spontaneous  comprehension  of  all  effects  of  instrumenta- 
tion. He  played  the  piano  part  from  the  full  orchestra  score,  and  it 
was  thus  that  he  developed  that  lightning-like  comprehension  of  the 
fullest  scores,  which  he  always  manifested.  Mendel  says  that  Max 
Franz  (the  Elector,  brother  of  Joseph  II)  when  he  appointed  Beethoven 
second  organist  furnished  funds  for  him  to  go  to  Vienna  to  make  more 
extended  studies. 


172  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

.Ouring  this  Bonn  life  Beethoven  early  attracted  the  attention  of 
the  von  Breunings,  a  wealthy  and  refined  family  of  that  town,  and  at 
their  house  he  was  always  at  home.  No  doubt  it  must  have  required 
a  good  deal  of  faith  in  the  diamond  concealed  in  his  rough  exterior,  for  the 
fine  van  Breunings  to  have  made  so  much  of  so  unpromising  a  customer 
as  the  boy  Beethoven.  He  was  moody,  often  irritable.  He  was  the 
very  prince  of  awkwardness,  upsetting  and  breaking  every  fragile 
article  he  came  near.  Still  there  seems  to  have  been  a  charm  about 
him,  for  as  we  shall  see  later,  he  was  through  life  a  favorite  among  the 
best  people,  especially  the  ladies,  of  an  elegant  and  ceremonious  court. 
Here  at  the  Breunings'  he  became  familiar  with  the  books  and  pictures 
denied  him  at  home.  Count  Waldsteiri,  also,  was  one  of  the  friends 
he  made  in  this  early  time,  and  who  always  remained  true  to  him.  It 
was  Waldstein  who  recommended  him  to  the  notice  of  the  titled 
relatives  of  his  family  when  Beethoven  came  to  Vienna  to  live;  and 
it  was  to  Count  Waldstein  that  in  1803  the  brilliant  sonata  in  C,  op. 
53,  was  dedicated. 

In  personal  appearance  Beethoven  must  have  been  rather  striking. 
He  was  of  medium  height  (or  rather  under),  thick  set,  a  noble  forehead, 
small,  brown  eyes,  deeply  set  in,  very  profuse  hair,  generally  "  tow- 
seled,"  his  dress  of  rather  common  texture  originally,  but  now  rich 
with  the  sedimentary  deposits  of  many  brushless  months.  His  hands 
are  well  shaped,  but  the  nails  are  not  well  kept.  In  movement  he  is 
quick  and  abrupt,  often  boorish.  This  want  of  politeness  adhered  to 
him  through  life.  Still,  it  was  his  lot  to  associate  with  many  eminent 
men,  and  from  them  he  doubtless  imbibed  a  great  deal  of  cultivation. 
His  manners  must  have  been  worse  about  the  time  of  his  departure 
from  Bonn  and  first  entrance  into  Vienna  than  afterwards. 

As  to  his  self-conceit,  all  testimony  proves  it.  Nor  is  it  difficult  to 
account  for  it.  It  must  have  been  perfectly  apparent  to  Beethoven 
that  he  was  able  to  improvise  music  of  such  rare  power  over  the  feel- 
ings that  nothing  of  Haydn's  or  Mozart's  or  Handel's  could  be  compared 
with  it.  We  read  remarkable  stories  of  this  faculty.  As,  for  instance: 
"Ignace  Pleyel  had  brought  some  new  quartettes  to  Vienna,  which 
were  performed  at  the  house  of  Prince  Lobkowitz.  At  the  close, 
Beethoven,  who  was  present,  was  asked  to  play.  As  usual,  he  had  to 
be  pressed  again  and  again,  and  at  last  was  almost  dragged  by  force 
to  the  instrument  by  the  ladies.  With  an  impatient  gesture  he 
snatched  from  the  violin  desk  the  open  second  violin  part  of  Pleyel's 
quartette,  threw  it  on  the  desk  of  the  pianoforte  and  began  to  impro- 
vise. His  playing  had  never  been  more  brilliant,  original  and  grand 


BEETHOVEN.  173 

than  on  that  evening.  But  through  the  whole  improvisation,  in  the 
middle  parts  ran  like  a  thread  or  canto  fermo  the  notes,  unimportant 
in  themselves,  of  the  accidentally  open  page,  on  which  he  built  the 
noblest  melodies  and  harmonies  in  the  most  brilliant  concert  style. 
Old  Pleyel  could  only  show  his  astonishment  by  kissing  his  hands. 
After  such  improvisation  Beethoven  would  break  out  into  a  loud, 
merry,  ringing  laugh." 

This  is  the  spirit  of  his  first  entrance  upon  the  Vienna  life  in  1792. 
Here  he  lived  until  his  death,  in  1827.  At  first  he  was  the  pupil  of 
Haydn,  who  since  Mozart's  death,  was  king  again.  For  these  lessons 
his  fee  was  exactly  eight  groschen,  eighteen  cents!  Later  he  went  to 
Albrechtsberger  for  lessons  in  counterpoint,  and  to  Salieri  for  lessons 
in  dramatic  composition. 

As  early  as  1800  he  began  to  be  hard  of  hearing,  gradually  in- 
creasing to  almost  total  deafness  as  early  as  1810.  This  affliction,  aa 
well  as  the  false  behavior  of  his  two  brothers,  his  nearest  relatives,  had 
the  effect  to  cloud  his  mind  with  suspicion  of  all  the  people  around  him. 
In  the  period  from  1792  to  1810,  he  produced  a  constant  succession  of 
the  noblest  works.  Before  he  had  got  beyond  the  fifth  symphony  the 
critics  had  begun  to  talk  of  his  "obscurity,"  "want  of  melody,"  etc., 
just  as  they  did  a  few  years  ago  of  Schumann,  and  just  as  they  do  now 
of  Wagner.  Yet,  he  seems  to  have  cared  very  little  about  it,  and  said 
that  if  it  amused  them  to  be  constantly  writing  such  things  about  him 
they  might  be  freely  indulged. 

His  personal  habits  were  whimsical  enough.  One  lodging  was 
too  high;  another  he  left  because  the  landlord  was  too  obsequious. 
He  would  walk  his  room  half  the  night  through,  "  howling  and  roar- 
ing" the  melodies  that  filled  his  imagination,  and  flooding  the  floor 
and  ruining  the  ceiling  and  tempers  of  the  occupants  of  the  rooms  below 
with  the  water  he  poured  over  his  hands  to  cool  his  feverishness.  He 
would  hire  a  boy  to  pump  water  over  his  hands  by  the  hour  together. 
It  is  related  apropos  to  his  carelessness  in  money  matters  that  "  the  wait- 
ers in  the  cafes  in  Vienna  were  content  to  be  unpaid  sometimes,  if  they 
were  paid  double  and  treble  the  next  day.  It  was  not  worth  while  to 
quarrel  with  a  privileged  person,  who  always  had  the  laugh  on  his  side, 
and  had  been  known  to  throw  a  dish  of  meat  at  the  head  of  a  waiter 
suspected  of  cheating.  Here,  after  the  close  of  his  day's  labor,  he  ap- 
peared at  his  best,  and  those  who  knew  him  speak  of  his  loud  laugh- 
ter, his  richness  and  originality  of  conversation,  his  wit,  bold  and  reck- 
less as  his  harmonies,  his  strong  opinions,  his  interest  in  books  and 
politics.  On  all  hands  we  see  the  signs  of  the  broad  and  wholesome 


174  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

humanity  which  formed  the  ground  of  his  strangely  mingled  character, 
so  much  caricatured  and  so  little  understood  by  the  retailers  of  anec- 
dote, who  can  see  in  Beethoven  nothing  but  an  inspired  artist,  and  a 
mixture  of  misanthropy  and  buffoon."*  "  To  his  friends  he  was  a  warm 
hearted,  unselfish  friend,  not  to  be  treated  carelessly,  much  less  to  be 
played  with  or  slighted;  a  friend  whose  friendship  was  worth  a  sacri- 
fice, because  it  was  founded  on  perfect  sincerity,  could  endure  no 
suspicion  of  insincerity  in  others.  That  Beethoven — great  Mogul  as 
he  was,  and  capable  of  many  unmannerly  words  and  actions — was  not 
unacceptable  to  those  who  loved  good  society,  we  may  learn  from  the 
fact  of  his  having  always  been  well  received  by  the  great  ladies  of  a 
ceremonious  court.  It  was  true  that  his  dress  was  untidy  to  dirtiness; 
that  he  picked  his  teeth  with  the  snuffers,  upset  inkstands  into  the 
pianoforte,  and  broke  every  thing  he  touched;  and  that  he  had  been 
known  to  play  off  ill-bred  practical  jokes  on  some  of  his  friends;  but 
in  spite  of  all  incongruities,  princesses  and  countesses — nay,  person- 
ages of  still  higher  rank — received  him  as  an  equal  or  a  superior 
This  result  could  hardly  have  been  brought  about  by  his  music  alone."f 

From  1800  to  1806  Beethoven  was  in  the  height  of  his  creative 
activity.  During  this  time  he  produced  the  sonatas  opus  22  to  57,  the 
third  and  fourth  symphonies,  a  number  of  chamber  pieces  (quartettes, 
trios,  etc.),  and  the  opera  "  Fidelio."  This  creative  activity  continued, 
with  little  falling  off  in  speed,  and  with  a  decided  progress  in  the 
quality  of  the  work  produced,  down  to  1815,  by  which  time  he  had 
written  all  the  nine  symphonies  except  the  last.  These  years  were 
especially  productive  in  smaller  works — such  as  songs,  bagatelles  of 
various  kinds,  three  sets  of  Scotch  and  Irish  airs,  arranged  with  ritor- 
nellos  and  accompaniments. 

Beethoven  was  now  forty-five  years  of  age.  He  was  in  ill  health, 
probably  for  want  of  proper  care  of  himself.  He  was  overrun  with 
commissions  from  publishers,  and  had  the  most  nattering  offers  to 
travel  in  different  countries,  of  which,  however,  he  was  too  fond  of 
Vienna  and  too  ignorant  of  the  world  to  take  advantage.  At  this  period 
misfortune  befell  him,  in  the  shape  of  a  nephew — the  son  of  his 
brother  Carl — left  in  his  guardianship.  As  already  shown,  there  were 
undesirable  streaks  in  the  Beethoven  family.  This  had  not  been 
mended  by  Carl's  marrying  a  shiftless  woman,  of  bad  repute, 
and  it  was  the  product  of  this  union  that  was  left  in  the  com- 
poser's care.  He  undertook  the  task  in  the  loftiest  spirit.  Hence- 
forth for  eleven  years  the  boy  regulated  all  the  affairs  of  Beethoven's 

'"Lives  and  Letters  of  Beethoven."— Edinburg  Review,  Oct.,  1853. 


BEETHOVEN.  175 

menage,  and  a  most  thankless  time  the  old  gentleman  had  of  it.  The  very 
worst  housekeeping  bachelor  that  ever  was  was  a  prince  of  managers 
compared  with  Beethoven.  He  had  not  the  slightest  "  faculty "  for 
business.  It  discomposed  him  to  be  obliged  to  transact  the  most  or- 
dinary affairs.  We  may  well  imagine  what  a  time  he  had  of  it  with  a 
reckless,  ungrateful  youth  on  his  hands.  His  love  was  repaid  with  in- 
gratitude, and,  to  crown  all,  the  nephew  seems  to  have  been  responsi- 
ble for  his  uncle's  death;  for,  when  sent  for  a  doctor,  he  carelessly 
gave  the  message  to  a  billiard  marker,  who  forgot  it  for  a  day  or  two, 
and  when  the  doctor  arrived  there  was  no  longer  a  possibility  of  cure. 

These  last  years  of  Beethoven  are  sad  in  the  extreme.  That  a  man 
should  have  had  so  much  greatness,  yet  so  little  comfort!  That  his  in- 
ner world  should  have  been  so  full  of  lovely  fancies,  which  he  has  left 
on  record  for  the  gratification  of  aftercoming  generations,  and  yet  his 
own  daily  life  have  been  so  unblessed  by  woman's  tenderness,  and  the 
amenities  of  home,  is  one  of  the  mysteries  of  life.  Yet  we  may  be  glad 
that  Beethoven  undertook  the  care  of  this  boy,  and  stuck  to  it  so  man- 
fully; for  his  letters  and  the  whole  history  of  this  time  place  his 
character  in  a  much  nobler  light  of  self-sacrifice  than  would  otherwise 
have  been  the  case.  And  as  to  the  works  we  might  else  have  had 
from  this  period,  our  composer  has  already  left  the  highest  monument 
so  far  in  the  world  of  music.  Surely  it  is  better  for  us  to  know  that 
he  was  a  noble-hearted,  true  man,  than  for  us  to  have  had  another  sym- 
phony. Besides,  there  is  no  doubt  that  this  discipline,  painful  as  it  was, 
must  have  wrought  a  great  softening  and  deepening  in  Beethoven's 
disposition. 

In  1725  he  imagined  himself  in  poverty.  Moscheles,  who  was 
then  in  London,  wrote  to  him,  and  arranged  for  the  London  Philhar- 
monic Society  to  give  a  concert  for  his  benefit,  in  return  for  which  he 
was  to  write  them  a  tenth  symphony.  This  concert  was  given  and  a 
sum  of  £100  made  up  and  sent  to  Beethoven  a  short  time  before  h« 
died.  The  whole  correspondence  may  be  found  in  Moscheles'  edition 
of  "  Schindler's  Life  of  Beethoven,"  and  in  Moscheles'  "Recent  Musio 
and  Musicians." 

Beethoven  died  March  29,  1827,  at  the  age  of  fifty-seven,  during 
a  violent  thunderstorm.  He  was  buried  at  Wahring,  a  small  village 
near  Vienna,  and  was  followed  to  the  grave  by  an  immense  concourse 
of  people  (over  twenty  thousand,  some  say). 

Beethoven's  genius  was  distinctly  that  for  expressing  feeling. 
Feeling  is  the  source  of  the  all-penetrating  unity,  which  is  perhaps 
one  of  the  most  conspicuous  marks  of  his  work.  We  do  not  mean  by 


176  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

this  that  he  is  always  in  a  passion,  or  under  the  influence  of  some 
dark  or  disturbing  mood.  Far  from  it.  The  genius  of  his  music  is 
characteristically  the  peaceful,  the  tranquil.  In  these  qualities  he  is 
hardly  surpassed  by  Mozart.  It  is  the  unity  and  the  repose  of  the  great, 
the  lasting,  the  true.  Beethoven  was  extremely  fond  of  the  open  air 
and  the  country.  When  the  weather  was  fine  he  would  spend  whole 
days  and  half  the  nights  wandering  about  the  fields  or  stretched  at 
ease  in  the  shade  of  a  tree.  In  these  walks  his  eye  was  quick  to 
notice  every  pleasant  bit  of  landscape,  every  pretty  flower,  or  effect  of 
light,  and  if  he  had  a  companion,  he  remarked  upon  these  things  with 
warmth  and  force. 

Such  beauty  and  quiet  took  musical  shape  within  him.  Out  came 
the  memorandum  book  of  music-paper  roughly  stitched  together,  and 
the  walk  and  discourse  gave  place  to  that  curious  "  howling  and  roar- 
ing" with  which  his  labor  of  composition  was  always  accompanied. 
His  published  works  are  full  of  ideas  which  may  be  traced  sometimes 
for  years,  through  wide  and  strange  changes  from  the  forms  in  which 
they  at  first  suggested  themselves  to  him  to  the  shape  in  which  they 
were  at  last  employed.  Those  tranquil  days  under  the  pleasant  sky 
are  all  expressed  in  his  music.  Of  such  a  spirit  are  the  pianoforte 
sonatas  in  E  and  G,  op.  14,  the  "  pastoral,"  op.  28,  that  in  G,  op.  31, 
and  several  of  those  for  piano  and  violin,  as  well  as  the  pastoral 
symphony,  and  the  seventh  and  eighth.  In  deriving  his  inspiration 
from  external  nature  as  a  source,  Beethoven  was  like  Schubert,  in 
whom  every  movement  of  soul  translates  itself  into  tones.  With 
Beethoven  there  is,  however,  this  difference,  that  he  selects  the  more 
significant  for  publication,  and  then  shapes  and  prunes  it  with  more 
care.  Beethoven  is  never  too  long;  certainly  never  tedious. 

Another  of  the  most  remarkable  peculiarities  of  Beethoven's  music 
is  the  clearness  and  beauty  of  his  orchestral  coloring.  No  other  com- 
poser knows  better  just  where  to  throw  in  a  few  notes  of  the  flute,  a 
soft  low  tone  of  the  horn,  a  clever  bit  of  the  bassoon,  or  just  how  to 
place  a  subordinate  phrase  in  order  to  have  it  express  itself  without 
interfering  with  the  blending  and  harmony  of  the  whole.  This 
delicious  reserve  is  one  of  the  most  eminent  traits  of  the  symphonies, 
although  no  doubt,  a  part  of  it  is  apparent  only,  and  due  to  the  re- 
markable heightening  and  strengthening  of  orchestral  coloring  since 
his  day. 

Were  we  to  attempt  to  measure  up  and  estimate  the  place  of 
these  works  on  the  scale  of  beauty,  we  should  be  first  struck  with 
their  elegance,  clearness  and  the  agreeable  nature  of  their  sound.  They 


BEETHOVEN.  177 

have  for  pleasure  cf  sensation  all  that  they  could  have  and  still  retain 
their  distinguishing  elevation  of  sentiment.  In  formal  beauty,  like- 
wise, they  hold  an  extremely  high  rank,  perhaps  as  high  as  any.  There 
is  in  Mozart  a  certain  sweet  and  spontaneous  ^race,  an  unconscious 
sweetness,  such  as  we  rarely  find  in  Beethoven:  but  Beethoven  com- 
pensates for  this  lack,  if  lack  there  be,  by  a  greater  coherence  and 
unity,  through  which  he  reaches  a  more  serene  repose,  especially  in 
the  classical  moments  of  his  art. 

And  then,  finally,  we  come  to  the  symphonies.  Those  arc  the 
thoughts  Beethoven  had  while  he  lay  under  the  trees  out  in  the  country. 
Far  on  into  the  night  he  would  wander,  and  drink  in  his  fill  of  tho 
silent  teaching  of  nature.  Her  in  the  symphonies  we  have  them  all. 
If  in  the  pastoral  symphony  we  have  a  moment  of  pleasantry  in  the 
bird  song  or  two,  it  is  thrown  in  only  to  bring  us  still  nearer  the  in- 
scrutable mystery  of  the  growing  grass;  nearer  to  the  trees,  by  their 
subtle  chemistry  building  themselves  up  out  of  intangible  air  and  the 
hidden  riches  of  the  ground;  nearer  to  the  light  ?nd  fleecy  olouds,  and 
the  golden  and  crimson  sunset,  fitly  emphasizing  the  finished  day,  ever 
more  to  be  numbered  with  the  infinite  ages  of  God;  and,  above  all, 
nearer  to  the  greater  mystery  of  thoughtful  life,  the  image  of  the  In- 
visible, the  sure  witness  of  the  Infinite.  No  other  instrumental  music 
so  completely  seizes  and  exalts  the  hearer. 

The  inner  nature  of  Beethoven  allies  him  to  Bach.  They  were 
both  universal  musicians,  innovators  and  experimenters  in  every  direc- 
tion, according  to  the  light  and  resources  of  their  respective  genera- 
tions. Both  found  in  a  particular  style  and  form,  a  field  which,  on  the 
whole,  satisfied  them  and  afforded  room  for  the  elaboration  of  their 
most  beautiful  ideas.  Bach's  was  the  fugue.  There  was  no  kind  of 
musical  production  known  to  Bach's  day  which  he  did  not  to  some  ex- 
tent try,  except,  perhaps,  the  opera.  The  suite,  church  pieces,  organ 
works,  and  compositions  for  violin  and  almost  every  instrument,  he 
produced  in  large  quantities.  But,  after  all,  the  one  form  which  he 
always  adopted,  or  came  back  to  for  a  climax,  was  fugue.  This  great 
form,  the  ne  plus  ultra,  of  musical  logic,  was  not  original  with  Bach. 
On  the  contrary  it  had  been  worked  out  by  three  centuries  of  experi- 
menters and  geniuses,  until  it  assumed  the  form  in  which  Bach  found 
it,  and  in  which  it  is  in  effect  the  valid  and  final  solution  of  coherent 
tonality.  Counterpoint,  which  is  the  basis  of  fugue,  is  the  exhaustive 
solution  of  melodic  invention.  Bach's  work  was  to  seize  this  form  and 
appropriate  it  to  the  needs  of  musical  revelation.  He  filled  it  full  of 
novelty,  grandeur,  caprice,  humor,  true  musical  feeling  and  beauty. 
13 


178  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

He  exhausted  it,  completely  filled  up  the  capacity  of  the  form,  so 
that  since  Bach  there  is  no  longer  any  thing  new  to  be  said  in 
Fugue. 

In  like  manner  Beethoven  was  a  composer  of  sonatas.  The  role 
of  his  works  embraces  every  kind  of  production  known  in  his  day;  but 
the  one  form  which  he  made  his  own,  and  in  which  his  most  beautiful 
and  characteristic  ideas  are  expressed,  is  the  sonata.  This  form  includes 
his  thirty-three  for  piano  solo,  which  would  eternally  have  estab- 
lished his  fame  if  they  alone  had  constituted  his  serious  works;  nine- 
teen sonatas  for  piano  and  other  instruments;  eighteen  trios,  mainly 
for  piano  and  other  instruments;  twenty-three  quartettes  and  quin- 
tettes; the  sextette  and  septette,  and  the  nine  symphonies.  In  all,  more 
than  three  thousand  large  pages  of  sonata  writing.  Beethoven,  like 
Bach,  was  in  every  way  progressive  and  an  innovator.  He  experi- 
mented in  all  forms,  and  in  all  combinations  of  means  of  expression. 
Yet,  on  the  whole,  he  was  a  composer  of  sonatas. 

This  form  he  found  ready  to  his  hand  in  the  works  of  Haydn  and 
Mozart.  The  form,  as  such,  he  accepted  with  little  improvement.  But 
he  put  into  it  such  a  wealth  and  many-sided  possibility  of  expression 
as  surpassed  their  efforts  in  every  direction,  and  amounted  finally  to 
completely  exhausting  the  subject.  There  have  been,  really,  no 
genuine  composers  of  sonatas  since  Beethoven.  Every  great  master 
has  tried  it  out  of  deference  to  public  opinion,  but  the  chief  ideas  and 
distinctive  excellencies  of  all  composers  since  Beethoven  are  expressed 
in  other  forms  and  not  in  the  sonata.  Even  in  symphony,  where  they 
have  enjoyed  the  inestimable  advantages  of  modern  wealth  in.  instru- 
mentation, no  one  has  been  able  to  create  works  at  all  equal  to  his,  or 
even  such  as  add  any  thing  essentially  new  and  important  to  what  he 
has  said. 

Again,  Bach  and  Beethoven  were  both  of  them  characteristically 
instrumental  composers.  Although  both  have  written  works  employ- 
ing the  human  voice  in  solo,  ensemble  and  in  great  masses,  and  have 
therein  reached  the  most  sublime  heights  yet  attained  in  musical  crea- 
tion, they  have  in  all  cases  treated  the  voice  like  an  instrument,  and  with 
almost  total  disregard  of  the  conditions  of  its  agreeable  and  pleasing 
exercise.  This  limitation,  of  course,  is  a  detraction  from  their  success, 
for  if  they  were  to  use  the  voice  at  all,  there  was  no  valid  reason  why 
its  convenience  and  inherent  capacity  should  not  be  as  much  regarded 
as  that  of  any  other  instrument.  Bach  and  Beethoven  are  both  of 
them  exponents  of  the  inner  in  music.  While  they  both  reach  the 
highest  mark  of  formal  beauty,  they  do  so  accidentally,  so  to  say ;  as  an 


BEETHOVEN.  179 

incidental   result   of  the   spontaneous   expression   of  the   inner   and 
spiritual. 

Beethoven  marks  a  giant  stride  in  musical  progress  since  Bach,  in 
the  direction  of  the  humoristic.  Bach  himself  was  full  of  this 
spirit,  and  of  playful  phantasy,  as  all  his  works  show.  But  the  new 
forms  developed  or  perfected  by  Haydn  and  Mozart,  and  the  lessons 
taught  by  their  disregard  of  scholastic  tradition,  and  especially  the^ 
vigorous  flight  of  his  own  all-comprehending  and  untamed  spirit,  en- 
abled Beethoven  to  go  vastly  farther  than  Bach  in  this  direction,  and 
to  reveal  music  in  its  true  nature  as  spontaneous  expression  of  heart, 
feeling,  and  imagination.  And  thus  he  not  only  concentrated  in  himself 
and  fulfilled  all  the  tendencies  rnd  prophecies  of  musical  history  be- 
fore him,  and  enriched  the  world  with  some  of  the  most  precious  and 
immortal  productions  of  the  human  spirit,  but  afforded  in  turn  the  most 
pregnant  tokens  of  possibilities  in  music  yet  unrevealed  —  indications 
of  new  paths,  which  the  great  masters  since  have  occupied  themselves 
in  exploring. 

LIST  OF  BEETHOVEN  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  (Moderately  Difficult,  Employing  the  Pianoforte  and  Tenor.) 

1.  Sonata  in  Q,  op.  14,  No.  2. 

2.  Menuet  in  E  flat  out  of  Sonata  op.  31, No.  3. 

3.  Scherzo  in  C,  out  of  Sonata  op.  2,  No.  3 

4.  "Adelaide."    Tenor. 

5.  "  Nicht  zu  Geschwind,"  out  of  Sonata  in  E,  op.  90. 

6.  Rondo  in  G,  op.  51,  No.  2. 

2.  Difficult. 

1.  Sonata  Appassionata,  op.  57. 

2.  Air  and  Variations  in  A  flat,  op.  26. 

3.  "Adelaide."    Tenor. 

4.  Sonata  in  A  flat,  op.  110. 

5.  Rondo  Capriccioso,  op.  138. 


180  HOW   TO    UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 


CHAPTER  FORTY-SEVEN. 

MENDELSSOHN. 

Felix  Mendelssohn  was  born  in  Hamburg,  February  3,  1809.  He 
was  the  son  of  Abraham  Mendelssohn,  a  banker,  a  man  of  very  refined 
tastes,  and  grandson  of  Moses  Mendelssohn,  the  eminent  Rabbi  and 
philosopher.  The  name  Bartholdy  was  his  mother's,  and  was  taken 
later  in  life  as  a  condition  of  some  property  inheritance.  Felix  was 
the  second  of  four  children,  of  whom  Fanny,  the  eldest,  manifested  the 
most  remarkable  talents  in  music.  When  Felix  was  only  three  or  four 
years  old  the  family  removed  to  Berlin.  At  the  age  of  eight  he  al- 
ready played  the  piano  well.  The  theorist  Zelter  was  his  teacher  in 
composition,  and  Berger  in  piano  playing.  When  only  twelve  he  was 
pronounced  by  Zelter  his  best  scholar.  In  1824  Zelter  wrote  to  Goethe: 
"  Yesterday  evening  Felix's  fourth  opera  was  brought  out  here  in  a  little 
circle  of  us,  with  the  dialogue.  There  are  three  acts,  which,  with  two 
ballets,  occupied  about  two  hours  and  and  a  half.  The  work  was  re- 
ceived with  much  applause.  I  can  hardly  master  my  own  wonder  how 
the  boy,  who  is  only  about  fifteen,  has  made  such  progress.  Every- 
where you  find  what  is  new,  beautiful  and  peculiar  —  wholly  peculiar." 

In  the  year  1824  he  became  the  piano  pupil  of  Moscheles,  and  so 
began  the  long  and  delightful  intimacy,  which,  like  a  golden  thread, 
runs  through  the  volumes  of  Mendelssohn's  charming  letters  and 
Moscheles'  "  Recent  Music  and  Musicians." 

In  1829  Mendelssohn  started  to  visit  London.  He  made  a  long 
tour  through  many  places  of  interest,  especially  in  Italy,  before  he 
reached  England.  Among  the  new  pieces  he  brought  to  show 
Moscheles,  were  his  overture  to  "  Fingal's  Cave,"  "  Walpurgis  Night," 
and  his  G  minor  concerto  for  piano-forte  and  orchestra.  In  London, 
Mendelssohn  was  rapturously  received.  His  organ  playing  excited  the 
greatest  astonishment,  and  remains  to  the  present  day  a  bright  tradi- 
tion with  English  musicians.  Yet  it  is  but  fair  to  say  that  the  opinion 
there  held  of  his  organ  playing  was  by  no  means  shared  by  the  best 
authorities  in  Germany.  There  is  very  good  reason  for  believing  that 
his  pedal  technic  was  by  no  means  superior,  however  charming  his 


MENDELSSOHN  181 

manipulation  and  registration  may  have  been.  Be  this  as  it  may,  he 
undoubtedly  gave  a  decided  impetus  to  English  organ  playing,  es- 
pecially to  the  study  of  Bach. 

Mendelssohn  came  to  Leipsic  in  1835,  and  remained  there  all  but 
one  year  of  the  rest  of  his  life!  He  assumed  direction  of  the  Gewand- 
haus  concerts,  which,  henceforth,  reached  a  delicacy  unknown  to  them 
before.  The  oratorio  of  "  St.  Paul  "  was  written  for  the  Lower  Rhine 
Musical  Festival,  held  at  Diisseldorf  in  1836.  It  excited  the  highest 
enthusiasm. 

In  the  Spring  of  1837  Mendelssohn  was  married  to  Miss  Cecilia 
Jeanrenaud,  of  Dresden,  a  daughter  of  a  clergyman,  with  whom  he 
lived  very  happily  until  his  death. 

"  St.  Paul  "  was  brought  out  at  the  Birmingham  festival,  in  1838, 
where  it  at  once  took  a  high  place.  Three  of  his  psalms,  "As  the  Hart 
Pants,"  "  O  Come  let  us  Sing,"  and  the  one  hundred  and  fifteenth 
were  the  product  of  this  period. 

In  1843  the  Leipsic  Conservatory  was  opened  with  about  sixty 
pupils.  The  teachers  were  Mendelssohn,  Schumann  (piano),  David 
(violin),  and  Becker  (organ).  Other  teachers  were  soon  added.  This 
renowned  institution  seems  to  have  been  chiefly  the  creation  of  Men- 
delssohn's brain,  and  to  him  it  owes  its  character.  It  has  turned  out  a 
a  vast  number  of  pupils,  all  more  or  less  well  grounded  in  music.  No 
school  has  had  greater  influence  in  this  country.  There  is  one  draw- 
back to  the  association  of  a  man  like  Mendelssohn  with  such  a  school, 
namely:  that  after  he  leaves  it  his  charming  manner  and  peculiar  ideas 
become  the  ideal  which  places  subsequent  directors,  however  talented,  at 
a  disadvantage.  There  is  some  reason  to  believe  that  the  Leipsic  school 
has  not  been  entirely  free  from  this  failing.  One  good  point  about  this 
school  must  not  be  overlooked:  that  there  they  always  hold  content  for 
the  first  merit  t>f  a  work.  This,  in  a  town  enriched  by  the  labors  of 
Bach,  and  Mendelssohn,  and  Schumann,  is  what  we  might  expect. 

Space  does  not  permit  to  follow  closely  Mendelssohn's  subsequent 
career.  It  embraced  a  year's  residence  in  Berlin,  frequent  visits  to 
England,  where  he  brought  out  "  Elijah,"  in  1846,  as  well  as  constant 
appearances  throughout  Germany,  as  director,  composer  and  pianist. 
His  life  was  a  ceaseless  round  of  activity,  and  it  is  little  wonder  that 
the  delicate  frame  wore  out.  He  died  in  Leipsic,  November  4,  1847. 

In  personal  appearance  Mendelssohn  was  rather  under  the  me- 
dium size,  graceful  in  walk  and  bearing.  His  forehead  was  high  and 
arched,  his  nose  delicate,  slightly  Roman;  his  mouth  fine  and  firm,  and 
his  head  covered  with  glossy,  black,  curly  hair.  His  countenance  was 


182  HOW   TO    ll.NDERSTA.NI>  MUSIC 

very  expressive,  and  his  whole  manner  fascinating  in  the  extreme.  He 
was  the  idol  of  men  and  women  alike  in  every  circle  where  he  moved. 
He  inherited  large  means,  which  he  freely  dispensed  in  the  most  deli- 
cate and  unostentatious  charities.  His  entire  independence  of  the  need 
of  labor  for  sustenance  gave  no  slackening  to  his  ardor  in  composition. 
In  my  opinion,  Mendelssohn's  chief  characteristics  must  have  been  his 
genial  fancy,  his  exquisite  taste  and  kind  heartedness.  In  his  charm- 
ing letters  from  Italy  and  Switzerland  we  have  these  qualities  fully 
exhibited.  Two  more  delightful  books  than  those  of  his  letters  do  not 
adorn  literature.  The  same  qualities  shine  out  in  his  music.  Every- 
where we  meet  a  romantic  and  delicate  fancy,  a  sprightfulness  and 
ever-present  sense  of  the  beautiful,  which  carries  us  back  to  Mozart. 

As  a  composer  Mendelssohn  built  on  Bach.  By  this  I  mean  that 
Bach  stood  to  him  as  a  model  of  true  greatness  in  music.  It  was  not 
possible  for  such  a  nature  as  Mendelssohn's  to  emulate  the  lofty  repose 
of  Bach's  greatest  things.  Still  everywhere  in  his  serious  moments  we 
find  the  traces  of  the  influence  of  the  sober  old  Leipsic  cantor. 

Mendelssohn's  greatness  as  a  composer  lies  in  his  oratorios  and 
psalms.  Brendel  regards  these  as  no  longer  religious  works,  strictly 
speaking,  but  as  "  concert  oratorios,"  in  which  he  thinks  the  worldly 
element  comes  forth.  In  this  he  is  right  to  a  certain  extent.  Handel's 
"  Messiah "  does  not  manifest  this  worldly  spirit,  because  the  subject 
forbade  it.  In  the  first  place,  this  spirit  manifests  itself  in  a  linger- 
ing over  details,  such  as  beautiful  tone  effects  of  one  sort  or  another 
(just  as  the  ribbon,  the  ornament,  or  other  little  piquancy  of  dress, 
betray  a  woman's  instinct  for  being  admired),  and,  for  this  sort  of 
thing,  the  haste  in  which  Handel  wrote  the  "  Messiah  "  left  him  no 
time.  Besides,  as  I  have  before  said,  the  text  of  the  "  Messiah  "  in- 
spired in  him  an  elevation  of  sentiment  to  which  he  was  commonly  a 
stranger.  Moreover,  the  worldly  element  in  music  was  then  in  its  in- 
fancy. The  foundation  of  it  was  there,  namely,  the  taste  of  the  public. 
The  "  Messiah,"  and  all  of  Handel's  oratorios  were  written  for  the 
concert,  and  not  for  religious  use.  In  this  he  differs  from  Bach,  who 
had  nothing  to  consult  but  his  own  ideal.  His  pieces  were  written  for 
church  and  played  in  church.  Religious  worship  was  their  inspira- 
tion. It  is  the  absence  of  the  influence  of  the  public  that  permits 
Bach's  unquestionable  prolixity,  which,  in  our  day,  seems  tediousness. 

It  is  in  "  Elijah  "  that  Mendelssohn  most  fully  moves  the  public. 
The  dramatic  story,  the  picturesque  contrasts,  the  richness  and  taste 
of  its  orchestration,  its  novel  and  fascinating  choruses,  and  especially 
the  beauty  and  graphic  appropriateness  of  his  melodies,  give  this 


MENDELSSOHN.  183 

oratorio  a  wonderful  charm.  One  should  read  Mr.  Dwight's  glowing 
description  of  it,  found  at  the  end  of  Lampadius'  Life  of  Mendelssohn. 
I  confess  that  there  is  hardly  a  tedious  moment  to  me  in  this  lovely 
work.  From  the  first  recitative,  "  Thus  saith  the  Lord,"  through  the 
entire  work,  I  find  the  rarest  appreciation  of  beauty,  and  the  rarest 
truth  to  the  words.  How  overpowering  the  choruses,  "  Thanks  be  to 
God,"  and  "Be  not  Afraid;"  how  sweet  and  lovely  "He,  watching 
over  Israel;"  how  graphic  the  recitative  where  fire  descends;  how 
mighty  the  contrast  in  the  quartette  and  chorus,  "  Holy,  Holy,  Holy, 
is  God  the  Lord!  " 

In  this  oratorio  Mendelssohn  seems  to  have  reached  the  acme  of 
taste  in  the  compromise  he  has  effected  between  the  religious  and  the 
merely  beautiful.  This  same  admirable  taste  manifests  itself  also  in  the 
psalms.  Take,  for  instance,  the  "  Hear  my  Prayer."  Here  we  have  a 
solo,  "  Hear  my  Prayer,"  the  excited  chorus,  "  The  Enemy  shouteth," 
and,  finally,  the  altogether  unique  solo  and  chorus  obligate,  "  Oh,  for 
the  Wings  of  a  Dove! "  Nothing  could  be  more  beautiful. 

In  his  piano  forte  music,  especially  the  "  Songs  Without  Words11 
we  have  the  same  loveliness  of  fancy  and  sentiment.  These  are  works 
which  all  tasteful  people  admire.  The  larger  pieces  no  longer  hold 
the  position  in  the  estimation  of  musicians  they  once  did,  although  it 
would  be  impossible  to  find  two  more  lovely  pieces  for  ladies'  per- 
formance than  the  "Rondo  Capriccioso1'  and  "Capriccio  in  B  minor." 

It  is  further  in  proof  of  the  ruling  quality  of  Mendelssohn's  mind 
that  the  scherzo  is  his  most  perfect  triumph.  There  we  have  a  fairy- 
like  playfulness  truly  exquisite  and  altogether  unique.  The  "  six  organ 
sonatas"  were  made  up  for  the  English  market.  They  have  marked 
beauties  and  are  ecclesiastical  in  tone;  and,  in  spite  of  their  peculiar 
"  sonata  "  form,  I  hold  them  in  high  estimation.  Besides,  there  was  a 
justification  for  this  irregularity  (which,  perhaps,  I  ought  to  explain, 
consists  of  their  having  but  two  movements  in  place  of  the  usual  four), 
in  the  congeniality  of  their  spirit  to  religious  service,  and  especially 
the  benediction  like  effect  of  the  soft  and  songful  andantes  forming 
their  conclusions.  In  quartettes,  quintettes  and  symphonies,  Mendels- 
sohn was  also  extremely  successful,  but  it  may  be  questioned  whether 
he  ever  surpassed  his  lovely  overture  to  the  "  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream,"  the  work  of  his  boyhood. 

LIST  OF  MENDELSSOHN  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

(Employing  a  Soprano,  AUot  and  the  Pianoforte^) 
1.  Overture  to  the  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  (for  four  handa), 
3  "  On  Wings  of  Music,"  Tenor  (or  Soprano). 


184  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

3.  Rondo  Capriccioso. 

4.  "  Jerusalem,  Thou  that  Killest  the  Prophets,"  Soprano. 

5.  a.  Hunting  Song  (No.  3). 
6.  People's  Song  (No.  4). 
c.  Spring  Song  (No.  27). 

6.  "  O !  Rest  in  the  Lord,"  Alto. 

7.  "  Duetto  "  (No.  18  in  Songs  without  Words). 

8.  Duet,  "Would  that  my  Love,"  Soprano  and  Alto. 

9.  Finale  from  "  Italian  "  Symphony,  (four  hands)  Pianoforte. 


CHAPTER  FORTY-EIGHT. 

CHOPIN. 

Frederic  Chopin  was  born  at  Zela-zola-Wola,  near  "Warsaw, 
March  1,  1809,  and  died  at  Paris,  October  17,  1849.  Within  these 
forty  years  were  bound  up  the  activities  of  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
spirits  in  music.  In  Chopin  we  have  another  example  of  precocious 
talent,  such  as  are  seen  in  Mozart,  Schubert,  and  Liszt.  At  the  age  of 
nine  he  played  in  public  a  concerto  by  Gyrowetz,  and  improvised.  His 
studies  were  begun  under  the  direction  of  Ziwna,  a  passionate  admirer 
of  Sebastian  Bach,  and  carried  on  later  under  Joseph  Eisner,  principal 
of  the  Conservatory  of  Warsaw.  The  records  of  Chopin's  early  life 
are  extremely  meagre.  We  know  that  he  was  then  a  fluent  Bach 
player,  to  whom  through  life  he  remained  devoted.  We  are  also  sure 
that  even  as  eaily  as  sixteen  he  must  have  been  a  great  virtuoso,  not 
only  equal  to  every  thing  that  had  been  planned  for  the  piano  before 
his  time,  but  already  the  author  of  the  completely  new  methods  indi- 
cated in  i.he  excessively  difficult  variations  on  La  ci  dareni  la  mano^ 
the  first  nocturnes,  op  9,  the  early  mazuikas  and  waltzes,  and  es 
pecially  the  great  studies  op  10  and  the  two  concertos.  These  studies 
have  passed  into  the  standard  repertory  of  advanced  piano-playing, 
and  the  two  concertos,  although  weak  in  orchestral  handling,  are  ex- 
tremely brilliant  and  poetic  for  the  piano,  and  have  the  great  merit  of 
complete  novelty  and  freshness  of  style. 

With  these  great  compositions  already  finished,  as  well  as  many 
others  of  a  character  more  immediately  available,  he  set  out  for  Vienna, 
Paris,  and  London,  at  the  age  of  nineteen.  He  reached  Paris,  and 
there  met  Liszt,  with  whom  he  formed  a  devoted  friendship.  Here 


CHOPIN  185 

Chopin  found  a  congenial  public.  He  was  of  a  shy  and  delicate  na- 
ture, proud,  yet  somewhat  effeminate,  and  public  appearance  was 
distasteful  to  him.  In  manners  cultivated  and  refined,  and  quick  of 
intellect,  Chopin  immediately  became  the  center  of  a  considerable 
circle  of  artistic  people,  who  esteemed  him  no  less  for  his  personal 
qualities  than  his  remarkable  musical  gifts.  He  was  overrun  with  pu- 
pils, of  whom,  however,  he  would  take  but  a  small  number.  In  1837 
the  lung  disease,  with  which  he  had  been  threatened  since  childhood, 
developed  itself.  In  company  with  his  devoted  friend,  M'me  Geo. 
Sand,  to  whom  he  had  been  introduced  by  Liszt,  he  resided  at  the 
island  of  Majorca  for  several  years.  Deceived  by  a  show  of  returning 
health  he  came  back  to  Paris,  and,  as  already  recorded,  died  at  the  age 
of  Raphael  and  Mozart. 

Chopin's  music  is  not  the  universal  music  of  the  German  compo- 
sers, nor  is  it  the  humoristic  music  of  the  romantic  school,  although 
with  both  these  it  has  something  in  common.  It  is  a  contradiction. 
He  is  wild,  passionate,  capricious,  yet  always  graceful,  subtle,  refined, 
and  delicate.  Nothing  could  be  less  like  Bach's  music,  yet  it  has  much 
in  common  with  it.  Chopin's  genius  is  especially  for  the  piano.  All 
the  grace  and  elegant  manner  of  modern  virtuoso  piano-playing  come 
from  him.  Yet  the  inner  life,  the  musical  feeling  which  is  the  determ- 
ining cause  of  this  grace  and  refinement,  comes  rather  from  Schumann. 
Chopin  was  an  innovator  for  piano  in  his  matter  and  manner.  He 
gave  depth  to  the  nocturne;  enlarged  the  poetic  range  of  the  piano  by 
his  Polonaises,  Scherzos,  Impromptus,  Ballades,  and  Etudes.  His 
passages  are  new,  ingenious  and  beautiful.  Like  Schumann  he  writes 
mainly  for  the  pianoforte.  Unlike  him,  he  does  so  in  a  manner  which 
completely  harmonizes  with  the  nature  of  the  instrument,  and,  indeed, 
foresaw  its  latest  improvements.  Hence  we  find  in  Chopin's  works 
the  well-sounding  always  considered.  Nevertheless  they  are  not  re- 
poseful. Although  the  themes  are  fully  developed,  the  harmonic 
structure  and  the  rhythmic  organization  of  these  pieces  gives  them  a 
character  of  restlessness  and  dissatisfaction.  By  so  much  they  fall 
short  of  great  art.  In  all  of  them  it  is  rather  the  manner  of  saying 
which  charms,than  the  actual  idea  itself.  Psychologically  considered  they 
are  unhealthy.  There  runs  through  them  a  vein  of  sadness  and  mor- 
bid feeling  which  renders  them  too  exciting  for  the  weak  and  nervous. 
Their  most  conspicuous  external  quality  is  the  subtlety,  the  evan- 
escence, of  their  harmonies.  It  is  this  which  makes  Chopin's  music  so 
difficult  to  remember.  Its  technical  novelty  was  partly  in  a  new  and 
freer  use  of  the  pedal,  and  the  effective  employment  of  extended 


186  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

chords,  and  partly  in  better  sustained  and  more  brilliant  passages, 
especially  those  constructed  on  the  diminished  seventh.  As  to  its 
metrical  structure,  Chopin's  music  is  lyric.  His  period-lengths  are  re- 
markably uniform,  as  compared  with  those  of  Beethoven  or  Schumann. 
The  other  qualities  of  his  music  appear  best  in  the  actual  illustrations. 

LIST  OF  CHOPIN  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  Moderately  Difficult. 

1.  Polonaise  in  C  sharp  min.,  op.  27. 

2.  Valse  in  D  flat  maj.,  op.  64. 

3.  Nocturne  in  E  flat,  op.  9. 

4.  Impromptu  in  A.  flat,  op.  29. 

5.  Prelude  in  D  flat. 

6.  Valse  in  E  flat,  op.  18. 

7.  Nocturne  in  G  min;,  op.  37. 

8.  Polonaise  Militaire  in  A,  op.  40. 

2.  Difficult. 

1.  Etudes  out  of  op.  10,  No.  8  in  P,  No  5  on  the  black  keys,  and  No  12  for  the 

left  hand. 

2.  Nocturne  in  0  min.,  op  48,  or  in  G  maj  ,  op.  37. 

3.  Pantasie  Impromptu  in  C  sharp,  op  66. 

4.  Andante  Spianato  and  Polonaise  in  E  flat,  op  22, 

5.  Prelude  in  D  flat. 

6.  Ballade  m  A  flat,  op.  47. 


CHAPTER     FORTY- NINE. 

KOBERT  SCHUMANN 

Robert  Schumann  was  born  in  Zwickau,  in  Saxony,  June  8,  1810. 
His  father  was  a  bookseller  and  publisher,  a  man  full  of  eneigy  and 
circumspection,  and  of  decided  literary  tastes  and  ability.  The  boy 
was  sent  to  school  and  began  to  learn  music  at  an  early  stage  As 
early  as  the  age  of  seven  or  eight  he  wrote  some  little  dances,  although 
ignorant  of  the  rules  of  harmony.  It  is  said  that  even  then  he  was 
fond  of  sketching  in  music  the  peculiarities  of  his  friends,  and  did  this 
"  so  exactly  and  comically  that  every  one  burst  into  loud  laughter  at 
the  similitude  of  the  portrait."  Schumann  was  scarcely  nine  years  old 
when  his  father  took  him  to  hear  Ignatz  Moscheles,  the  famous  pianist, 


ROBERT  SCHUMANN.  187 

whose  playing  made  the  most  profound  impression  upon  him.  At  the 
age  of  ten  he  entered  the  academy,  and  here  formed  a  companionship 
with  a  boy  about  his  own  age,  with  whom  he  played  many  of  the 
works  of  Haydn  and  Mozart,  arranged  for  four  hands.  His  father  evi- 
dently encouraged  his  love  for  music,  and  gratified  him  with  a  fine 
piano  and  plenty  of  new  music. 

Presently  the  boys  came  across  the  orchestral  parts  of  Righini's 
overture  to  "Tigranes,"  and  forthwith  mustered  their  forces  for  per- 
formance. They  had  two  violins,  two  flutes,  a  clarionet,  and  two 
horns.  Robert  directed  and  undertook  to  supply  the  missing  parts 
upon  the  piano.  Their  success  encouraged  them  to  undertake  other 
tasks  of  a  similar  kind,  which,  also,  Robert  directed.  He  also  set  to 
music  the  one  hundred  and  fiftieth  psalm  for  chorus  and  orchestra,  and 
this  was  given  by  the  same  performers,  assisted  by  a  chorus  of  such 
boys  as  could  sing.  In  all  these  and  such  like  exercises,  the  father 
recognized  the  plain  indication  of  Providence  that  the  son  was  in- 
tended for  a  musician,  nor  was  he  disposed  to  thwart  the  design.  The 
mother,  however,  had  a  poor  idea  of  the  musical  profession,  and  thought 
only  of  the  hardships  it  carried  with  it. 

As  a  boy  Robert  was  full  of  tricks  and  sports.  But  at  the  age  of 
fourteen  a  change  came  over  him,  and  he  became  more  reserved  and 
prone  to  revery.  This  habit  never  forsook  him  through  life.  It  was, 
perhaps,  increased  by  the  death  of  his  appreciative  and  kind-hearted 
father,  which  took  place  in  1826,  when  Robert  was  but  sixteen.  In 
deference  to  his  mother's  wishes  he  matriculated  at  Leipsic  as  a  law 
student  in  1828. 

Through  his  father's  example  he  had  already  made  the  acquain- 
tance of  Byron's  poems.  He  now  became  infected  with  a  perfect  fever 
for  Jean  Paul.  Here,  also,  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  Friedrich 
Wieck,  and  became  his  pupil  in  piano-playing.  The  daughter,  Clara, 
then  but  nine  years  old,  attracted  him  very  much  by  her  remarkable 
talent.  Schumann  left  Leipsic  for  Heidelburg  for  a  while,  in  order  to 
attend  certain  lectures  there.  Now  ensued  a  still  more  violent  con- 
test between  law  and  music,  which  resulted  at  last  in  his  return  to 
Leipsic  in  1830,  for  the  purpose  of  devoting  himself  to  music,  which 
he  becran  to  do  ao-ain  under  "VVieck's  instruction.  But  this  course  was 

O  ~ 

not  rapid  enough  for  the  impatient  student,  who  imagined  himself  the 
discoverer  of  a  secret  by  which  the  time  of  practice  could  be  much 
shortened.  The  experiment,  whatever  it  was,  worked  disastrously,  and 
had  the  effect  of  destroying  the  use  of  the  fourth  finger  of  the  right 
hand,  and  consequently  in  disabling  him  from  piano-playing  altogether. 


188  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

He  now  devoted  himself  to  composition,  and  produced  his  op.  1, 
variations  on  the  name  "Abegg,"  and  directly  his  "  Papillons,''  or 
scenes  at  a  ball.  In  these  his  talent  and  originality  were  plain  enough, 
as  well  as  the  lack  of  clearness.  Incited  by  the  criticism  which  these 
works  met  on  all  hands,  he  took  up  the  study  of  counterpoint  and  com- 
position, and  little  by  little  acquired  smoothness  of  style.  Thus  he 
produced  his  two  sets  of  studies  after  Paganini,  op.  3  and  op.  10,  the 
Davidsbundlertanze,  op.  6,  the  Toccata,  Allegro,  Carnival,  op.  9,  the 
sonata  in  F  sharp  minor,  and  the  "  Phantasie  Stiicke,"  op.  12.  The 
latter  set  of  pieces  has  become  universally  favorite,  and  shows  Schu- 
mann's originality  in  a  favorable  light.  They  have  already  been  ana- 
lyzed in  Chapter  XXXIII,  and  need  not  here  be  taken  up 
again. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  of  the  works  of  this  first  epoch  is  the 
Etudes  Symphoniques,  an  air,  twelve  variations,  and  a  finale.  These 
variations  are  not  so  much  unfoldings  of  the  theme,  as  associated  or 
congenial  ideas  and  images  called  up  by  it,  as  it  is  dwelt  upon  in  the 
mind.  It  would  be  impossible  to  conceive  any  thing  less  like  an  ordi- 
nary set  of  variations.  Instead  of  the  usual,  somewhat  timid  progres- 
sion from  one  variation  to  the  next,  we  here  effect  the  boldest  transi- 
tions. At  times  we  lose  the  theme  completely.  Then  it  re-appears. 
This  work  is  extremely  interesting,  because  the  forms  are  short,  and 
the  musical  nature  of  the  whole  is  of  the  most  precious  quality.  Of 
similar  excellence  is  the  Kreisleriana,  op.  16,  and  the  Humoreske, 
op.  20. 

In  1833  Schumann  united  with  a  few  others  in  establishing  the 
Neue,  Zeitschriftfur  Musik  (New  Journal  of  Music),  as  the  advocate 
of  progression,  and  as  opposed  to  pedantry  and  (other  people's)  conceit. 
Like  all  journals  devoted  to  art,  it  was  published  at  a  loss,  but  was 
kept  up  for  several  years,  and  to  it  the  world  is  indebted  for  the  pre- 
servation of  Schumann's  opinions  and  criticisms  upon  contemporary 
music.  Two  volumes  of  his  writings  are  now  available  in  English,  and 
exhibit  him  in  an  altogether  favorable  light.  Meantime  his  affairs  of 
the  heart  made  haste  slowly.  After  several  episodes,  he  finally  settled 
down  to  the  conviction  that  Clara  Wieck  was  indispensable  to  his  hap- 
piness. Father  Wieck  objected,  for  reasons  not  publicly  stated,  but 
probably  on  account  of  doubt  of  the  lover's  fixity  of  purpose  and  sta- 
bility of  talent.  At  length  an  engagement  was  allowed,  and  in  1840 
Schumann  burst  out  in  song,  composing  in  a  single  year  one  hundred 
and  forty.  Among  them  were  those  two  sets  "  Woman's  Love  and 
Life,"  and  "  Poet's  Love,"  which  still  remain  among  the  most  highly 


ROBERT  SCHUMANN.  189 

prized  achievements  in  this  line.  In  this  year  he  was  married  to  Clara 
Wieck,  on  the  12th  of  September. 

He  now  turned  his  attention  to  orchestral  instruments  and  pro- 
duced his  piano  quartette  and  quintette,  and  his  B  flat  symphony. 
This  was  followed  by  other  orchestral  works,  and  in  1851  by  the  sym- 
phony in  D  minor.  In  1841  he  became  connected  with  the  Conserva- 
tory at  Leipsic  as  teacher  of  piano-playing,  composition,  and  the  art 
of  playing  from  score.  This  continued  until  his  removal  to  Dresden, 
which  took  place  in  1844.  He  had  already  in  1840  composed  his 
charming  and  highly  romantic  work  "  Paradise  and  the  Peri."  As  soon 
as  he  arrived  in  Dresden  he  set  to  work  on  the  epilogue  to  the  Faust  mu- 
sic. The  incessant  activity  of  his  mind  finally  resulted  in  throwing  it 
completely  off  its  balance,  and  gave  rise  to  distressing  symptoms  of 
melancholy.  In  1848  he  wrote  his  opera  of  "  Genoveva,'1  which,  al- 
though full  of  beautiful  music,  is  not  well  adapted  for  dramatic  per- 
formance. Here  also  followed,  in  an  order  which  we  have  no  room  to 
trace,  the  later  compositions  for  the  piano.  In  1850  he  removed  to 
Diisseldorf  as  municipal  director,  and  was  received  with  a  banquet  and 
concert.  His  position  here  was  pleasant,  but  he  had  as  little  talent  for 
directing  as  teaching.  In  1853  he  and  his  wife  made  a  concert  tour 
through  the  Netherlands,  where  Schumann  was  delighted  to  find  his 
music  as  well  known  as  at  home.  "  Everywhere,"  he  writes,  "  there 
were  fine  performances  of  my  symphonies,  even  the  most  difficult." 

Still  his  malady  increased.  He  imagined  he  heard  a  tone,  which 
pursued  him  incessantly,  and  from  which  harmonies,  nay  whole  com- 
positions were  gradually  developed.  He  became  sleepless,  and  cast 
down  with  melancholy.  At  length  he  threw  himself  into  the  Rhine, 
from  which  he  was  with  difficulty  rescued.  He  was  removed  to  a 
private  asylum  at  Endenich,  where  he  died  two  years  later,  July  31, 
1856. 

"  Robert  Schumann  was  of  middling  stature,  almost  tall,  and  slightly 
corpulent.  His  bearing  while  in  health  was  haughty,  distinguished, 
dignified  and  calm;  his  gait  slow,  soft,  and  a  little  slovenly.  While  at 
home  he  generally  wore  felt  shoes.  He  often  paced  his  room  on  tip- 
toe, apparently  without  cause.  His  eyes  were  generally  down-cast, 
half-closed,  and  only  brightened  in  intercourse  with  intimate  friends, 
but  then  most  pleasantly.  His  countenance  produced  an  agreeable, 
kindly  impression;  it  was  without  regular  beauty,  and  not  particularly 
intellectual.  The  fine  cut  mouth,  usually  puckered  as  if  to  whistle, 
was,  next  to  the  eyes,  the  most  attractive  feature  of  his  full,  round, 
ruddy  face.  Above  the  heavy  nose  rose  a  high,  bold,  arched  brow, 


190  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND   MUSIC. 

which  broadened  visibly  at  the  temples.  His  head,  covered  with  long, 
thick,  dark-brown  hair,  was  firm  and  intensely  powerful,  we  might  say 
square.*" 

As  a  composer  Schumann  is  one  of  the  most  important  in  the  en- 
tire history  of  music.  Liszt  acutely  remarked,  "  Schumann  thinks 
music  better  than  any  other  since  Beethoven."  We  have  already  seen 
that  Bach  established  modern  tonality  by  taking  it  as  he  found  it  al- 
ready developed  for  him  in  Fugue,  and  applying  it  to  the  expression 
of  musical  feeling,  the  vital  element  which  had  been  generally  want- 
ing in  the  music  written  before  his  day. ,  After  Bach,  nothing  new  was 
done  for  music  but  to  invent  clearer  forms,  and  to  master  its  use  as 
the  expression  of  light  and  deep  feeling  according  to  the  demands  of 
the  classical  school.  We  have  also  seen  that  Beethoven,  in  some  of  his 
works,  goes  beyond  the  classical  idea,  and  actually  enters  upon  the 
province  of  the  romantic.  This  he  does  in  the  stronger  contrasts  of 
his  works,  especially  in  the  pianoforte  sonatas,  op.  13,  110  and  111. 
Yet  in  these  works  which  are  so  full  of  feeling,  and  expressed  with  such 
masterful  power,  there  is  after  all  a  certain  repose  and  classical  dig- 
nity beyond  which  they  do  not  come.  These  elements  are  still  more 
noticeable  in  his  opera  "  Fidelio,"  where  there  was  room  for  him  to 
have  expressed  himself  in  a  truly  romantic  manner.  But  no!  here,  as 
elsewhere,  he  is  distinctly  the  instrumental  composer,  considering  the 
music  first  and  the  text  afterwards.  That  the  music  is  far  above  that 
of  any  Italian  opera,  comes  not  from  Beethoven's  seizure  of  the  text, 
but  from  his  range  of  expression  as  a  musician.  It  is  as  music  that 
"  Fidelio  "  surpassed  other  operas,  and  not  as  a  poetico-musical  inter- 
pretation of  a  highly  poetic  and  suggestive  text.  The  same  peculiari- 
ties of  Beethoven's  music  are  still  more  perceptible  in  the  symphonies, 
where  he  is  always  moved  by  musical  considerations  as  such.  Nothing 
tempts  him  from  the  strictly  appropriate  and  suitable  development  of 
his  theme.  True,  he  does  this  with  consummate  beauty,  and  sets  it  off 
by  the  most  delightful  contrasts,  but  in  all  he  is  reposeful,  elegant, 
beautiful.  The  very  fineness  of  the  work  makes  it  ineffective  to  com- 
mon minds.  Yet,  how  much  more  effective  to  those  who  have  the  ears 
to  hear. 

Schubert  is  in  many  respects  to  be  counted  a  romantic  composer. 
Yet  we  have  but  to  study  his  music  deeply  to  perceive  that  his  roman- 
ticism is  spasmodic  and  temporary,  while  the  natural  range  of  his 
thought  is  according  to  the  methods  of  the  classical.  Thus  while  in 
his  great  romantic  songs,  like  the  Erl  King,  he  is  distinctly  a  romantic 

•Von  Waslelwski. 


ROBERT  SCHUMANN.  191 

writer,  as  soon  as  the  stimulus  of  poetry  is  withdrawn  he  develops  his 
musical  ideas  at  great  lengths,  strictly  in  the  classic  method.  This  is 
to  be  seen  everywhere  in  Schubert's  instrumental  works,  and  he  is  es- 
pecially the  longest-winded  composer  of  all.  No  one  else  is  so  un- 
wearied in  turning  over  the  same  idea;  and,  it  may  be  added,  no  one 
else  does  so  with  such  elegance  and  grace. 

Schumann,  on  the  contrary,  is  romantic  in  the  very  essence  of  his 
musical  thought.  When  he  is  writing  to  a  text  he  is  graphic  and  flex- 
ible in  conforming  to  the  spirit  of  the  words.  But  when  he  is  writing 
instrumental  music  merely,  he  is  equally  direct  and  full  of  humor. 
The  classical  method  of  developing  musical  ideas  is  contrary  to  his  na- 
ture and  impossible  for  him.  All  through  his  life  he  made  the  most 
strenuous  efforts  to  write  elegantly,  and  according  to  the  canons  of 
form.  He  disciplined  himself  in  counterpoint  and  fugue  under  the 
best  masters  of  his  day,  and  studied  eagerly  Bach  and  Beethoven. 
Yet  he  could  never  develop  an  idea  easily  and  naturally  according  to 
the  fashion  of  the  classic.  His  fugues  are  forced,  his  counterpoint 
spasmodic,  and  his  sonatas  his  poorest  work.  His  songs  are  at  times 
badly  placed  for  the  voice,  and  entirely  unlike  every  thing  that  a  song 
ought  to  be — if  we  may  believe  the  critics  who  wrote  upon  them  in 
Schumann's  life-time.  Yet  they  have  made  their  way  and  are  now 
accepted  as  among  the  most  successful  efforts  yet  made  to  unite  poetry 
and  music.  So  also  in  the  instrumental  pieces.  These  little,  fantastic, 
irregular  compositions  are  now  played  and  enjoyed  all  the  world  over, 
although  they  do  not  contain  a  single  element  of  the  "  grateful  "  salon 
piece  for  the  pianoforte. 

Yet  the  classical  moment  in  music  had  not  passed  by  in  Schu- 
mann's day.  Beethoven's  later  sonatas  were  as  yet  a  sealed  book. 
Mendelssohn,  although  on  the  whole  to  be  counted  for  a  romantic  com- 
poser, handled  musical  ideas  with  an  ease  and  classical  elegance, 
limited  only  by  the  inherent  lightness  of  the  ideas  themselves.  Cho- 
pin, a  still  more  poetic  writer,  and  the  inventor  of  very  many  entirely 
new  ways  of  proceeding,  yet  develops  his  ideas  in  his  own  new  ways, 
somehow  not  unlike  the  spirit  of  the  classical  model.  Chopin  is  every- 
where new  and  original;  but  he  has  also  a  certain  epic  breadth.  He 
writes  long  movements,  which  are  well  sustained,  and  thoroughly 
satisfactory  in  point  of  formal  beauty. 

Schumann,  doubtless,  would  have  agreed  with  the  late  Edgar  A. 
Poe,  that  "  a  long  poem  is  a  contradiction  in  terms."  There  is  never 
a  long  piece  of  music  in  Schumann.  But  instead  thereof,  short  pieces, 
strongly  differentiated  and  contrasted,  and  out  of  them  are  built  up, 


192  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

mosaic-wise,  long  movements.  So  it  is  in  his  pianoforte  concertos, 
sonatas,  his  quartettes  and  symphonies.  The  distinguishing  greatness 
of  Schumann,  then,  is  not  in  his  large  pieces,  for  in  all  of  them  he  is 
one  way  or  another  hampered.  In  the  pianoforte  concerto,  for  exam- 
ple, there  are  no  effective  passages.  It  is  in  places  difficult  enough, 
but  it  is  very  far  from  a  bravoura  piece.  Even  the  cadenza  is  as  far 
as  possible  from  any  thing  likely  to  bring  down  the  house.  Yet  it  is 
one  of  the  most  delightful  works  ever  written,  and  full  of  the  most 
beautiful  ideas,  although,  to  be  sure,  these  are  mainly  for  the  piano. 

It  is  another  peculiarity  of  Schumann's  genius,  that  he  is  on  the 
whole  a  pianoforte  composer.  Although  he  wrote  a  large  amount  for 
other  instruments  and  for  the  voice,  his  piano  works  are  the  ones  on 
which  his  fame  chiefly  rests.  And  it  is  curious  to  observe  that  while 
this  is  the  case,  he  has  never  written  "gratefully"  for  the  pianoforte, 
but  always  the  new  and  original.  Hence  his  piano  pieces  had  to  wait 
a  long  time  for  their  merits  to  become  known.  One  might  almost  say 
that  they  had  to  wait  for  a  generation  of  players  able  to  understand 
them  and  do  them  justice. 

Schumann  is  essentially  the  music  thinker.  He  writes  well  for 
no  instrument  whatever,  nor  even  for  the  voice.  The  entire  art  of 
piano  playing,  and  especially  of  early  technical  practice,  has  had  to  be 
re-modeled  in  order  to  provide  the  technical  ability  with  which  to 
properly  render  these  works  of  his.  His  symphonies  not  only  are  made 
up  out  of  bits,  like  all  his  long  pieces,  but  are  badly  written  for  the 
strings,  the  very  foundation  of  the  orchestra.  Yet  the  music  has  in  it 
such  force  and  freshness,  that  these  works  hold  their  position,  not  only 
against  the  more  reposeful  and  elegant  works  of  Beethoven  and  the 
classical  composers,  but  against  modern  works  also,  even  though  in 
some  cases  much  better  written.  Bach  established  the  musical  vo- 
cabulary within  which  the  entire  classical  school  expressed  itself.  In 
like  manner  Schumann  did  this  for  the  romantic  school.  Nothing  es- 
sentially new  has  been  added  to  musical  phraseology  since  Schumann, 
but  only  to  master  the  use  of  his  new  modes  of  expression.  "What 
these  are  it  would  be  difficult  to  point  out.  If  we  examine  the  har- 
mony we  can  not  say  that  Schumann  uses  any  chord  that  may  not  be 
found  in  Bach.  Nor  is  the  novelty  in  period  formations.  But  perhaps, 
if  in  any  single  element,  in  the  manner  of  motive-transformation.  In 
this  respect  the  difference  between  Schumann  and  Bach  or  Beethoven 
Is  world-wide.  In  Bach  there  is,  to  be  sure,  a  fresh  and  thoroughly 
right  thematic  development,  and  so  in  Beethoven.  In  the  latter  his  fan- 
tasy sometimes  carries  him  to  great  lengths,  as  in  the  Rondo  Capriccioso- 


ROBERT  SCHUMANN.  193 

But  in  Schumann  this  fantasy  becomes  much  more  fantastic  and  hu- 
moristic.  In  many  cases  it  is  so  violent  as  to  forbid  his  adhering  to  a 
single  idea  and  working  it  out  thoroughly.  Instead  of  that  he  flies 
restlessly  from  one  idea  to  another,  and  to  yet  another,  until  the  lis- 
tener wearies  of  it.  So  he  violates  all  canons  of  beauty,  and  destruc- 
tive criticism  breaks  all  her  vials  of  wrath  upon  him.  Yet  the  strongest 
of  these  pieces  has  something  true  and  tender  in  it.  When  a  Rubin- 
stein produces  the  key  that  unlocks  the  magic  door,  we  enter  and  find 
here  a  world  of  tenderness  and  fanciful  beauty.  So  has  it  been  with 
the  apparently  most  unjustifiable  of  these  works,  like,  for  example,  the 
Carnival,  the  Faschingsschwank  aits  Wien,  and  so  on. 

It  is  Schumann  who  has  in  one  effort  taught  the  musical  world 
two  lessons  :  that  there  is  poetry  in  music,  and  that  there  is  music  in 
the  pianoforte.  His  creative  activity  busied  itself  along  the  line  where 
poetry  and  music  join.  Although  an  imaginative  and  fanciful  person, 
he  had  a  true  instinct  for  valid  and  logical  expression  in  music.  So,  even 
in  his  most  far-fetched  passages,  the  melodic  and  harmonic  sequences, 
although  new,  are  inherently  right,  and  entirely  compatible  with  those 
of  Bach  and  Beethoven.  Hence  whatever  ground  his  music  has  gained, 
it  has  held.  On  the  other  hand  he  had  also  a  fancy  in  which  every 
fantastic  idea  found  congenial  soil.  The  proper,  the  conventional,  the 
allowable,  meant  nothing  to  him.  He  gave  loose  rein  to  his  humor 
and  followed  it  whithersoever  it  led.  Nor  yet  in  this  did  he  lose  his 
balance.  For  at  the  bottom  he  had  the  key  to  the  riddle,  which  we 
have  before  several  times  pointed  out:  the  relation  of  music  to  emotion. 
And  so  while  his  fancy  took  him  far,  and  into  many  new  paths,  his  fine 
musical  sense  kept  him  from  passing  beyond  what  was  inherently  right 
in  music,  as  such.  That  he  often  passes  beyond  the  limits  of  the  sym- 
metrical, the  well-sounding,  or  even  the  agreeable,  we  can  afford  to 
forgive  for  the  sake  of  the  vigor  of  his  imagination,  and  the  inherent 
sweetness  and  soundness  of  his  disposition.  And  it  is  these  which  on 
the  whole  have  supported  and  justified  his  works. 

LIST  OF  SCHUMANN  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

1.  (Moderately  Difficult,  Employing  tfie  Pianoforte  and  a  Soprano.) 

1.  "The  Entrance,"  "  Wayside  Inn,"  and  "  Homeward"  from  the  Forest  Scenes, 

op.  82. 

2.  "The  Hat  of  Green,"  Soprano. 

3.  a.  Romance  in  F  sharp,  op.  28. 
b.  Hunting  Song. 

4.  "  O  Sunshine,"  Soprano. 

13 


194  HOW  TO  UNDERSTAND  MUSIC. 

5.  Nachtsttlcke  in  C  and  F,  op.  23. 

6.  "  Moonlight,"  Soprano. 

7.  "  End  of  the  Song,"  from  op.  12. 

2.  Difficult. 

1.  Etudes  Symphoniques,  op.  13,  Theme,  variations  1,  2,  3,  7, 11, 12,  and  Finale. 

2.  "  Thou  Ring  upon  my  Finger,"  Soprano. 

3.  "  Aufschwung,"  "  Warum,"  and  "  Ende  vom  Lied,"  from  op.  12. 

4.  "  He  the  Best  of  all,  the  Noblest,"  Soprano. 

5.  Novelette  in  F,  No.  1,  Romance  in  F  sharp,  and  Novellette  in  E.  No. 7, 

3.  Illustrations  of  the  Romantic 

1.  SCHUMANN.  — a.  Novellette  in  E,  No.  7. 

b.  Prophetic  Birds. 

c.  Traumeswirren. 

d.  Warum. 

e.  Ende  vom  Lied. 

2.  SCHUBERT.  —  "  The  Erl  King,"  Soprano. 

3.  CHOPIN.  —  a.  Scherzo  in  D  flat,  op.  31. 

6.  Nocturne  in  F  sharp,  op.  15. 
c.  Ballade  in  A  flat,  op.  47. 

4.  SCHUMANN.  —  "  He  the  Best  of  all,  the  Noblest." 

5.  CHOPIN.  —  Polonaise  in  A  flat,  op.  53. 


CHAPTER    FIFTY. 

LISZT. 

Liszt  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  personages  who  has  yet  ap- 
peared in  music.  His  life  is  briefly  told  by  Francis  Heuffer,  in  Grove's 
"Dictionary,"  as  follows: 

"  Franz  Liszt  was  born  October  22,  1811,  at  Raiding,  in  Hungary, 
the  son  of  Adam  Liszt,  an  official  in  the  imperial  service,  and  a  musi- 
cal amateur  of  sufficient  attainment  to  instruct  his  son  in  the  rudiments 
of  pianoforte-playing.  At  the  age  of  nine  young  Liszt  made  his  first 
appearance  in  public  at  Oedenburg,  with  such  success  that  several 
Hungarian  noblemen  guaranteed  him  sufficient  means  to  continue  his 
studies  for  six  years.  For  that  purpose  he  went  to  Vienna,  and  took 
lessons  from  Czerny  on  the  pianoforte,  and  from  Salieri  and  Rand- 
hartinger  in  composition.  The  latter  introduced  the  lad  to  his  friend 
Franz  Schubert.  His  first  appearance  in  print  was  probably  in  a  va- 
riation (the  24th)  on  a  waltz  of  Diabelli's,  one  of  fifty  contributed  by 


LISZT.  195 

the  most  eminent  artists  of  the  day,  for  which  Beethoven,  when  asked 
for  a  single  variation,  wrote  thirty-three  (op.  120).  The  collection, 
entitled  VaterlSndische  Kiinstler-Verein,  was  published  in  June,  1823. 
In  the  same  year  he  proceeded  to  Paris,  where  it  was  hoped  that  his 
rapidly  growing  reputation  would  gain  him  admission  at  the  Conser- 
vatoire in  spite  of  his  foreign  origin.  But  Cherubini  refused  to  make 
an  exception  in  his  favor,  and  he  continued  his  studies  under  Reicha 
and  Pae'r.  Shortly  afterwards  he  also  made  his  first  serious  attempt  at 
composition,  and  an  operetta  in  one  act,  called  *  Don  Sanche,'  was 
produced  at  the  Academic  Royale,  October  17, 1825,  and  well  received. 
Artistic  tours  to  Switzerland  and  England,  accompanied  by  brilliant 
success,  occupy  the  period  till  the  year  1827,  when  Liszt  lost  his  father 
and  was  thrown  on  his  own  resources  to  provide  for  himself  and  his 
mother.  During  his  stay  in  Paris,  where  he  settled  for  some  years,  he 
became  acquainted  with  the  leaders  of  French  literature,  Victor  Hugo, 
Lamartine  and  George  Sand,  the  influence  of  whose  works  may  be 
discovered  in  his  compositions.  For  a  time  also  he  became  an  adherent 
to  Saint-Simon,  but  soon  reverted  to  the  Catholic  religion,  to  which, 
as  an  artist  and  a  man,  he  has  since  adhered  devoutly. 

"  The  interval  from  1839  to  1847  Liszt  spent  in  traveling  almost  in- 
cessantly from  one  country  to  another,  being  everywhere  received 
with  an  enthusiasm  un equaled  in  the  annals  of  Art.  In  England  he 
played  at  the  Philharmonic  Concerts  of  May  21,  1827  (Concerto,  Hum- 
mel), May  11,  1840  (Concertstuck,  Weber),  and  June  8,  1840  (Kreut- 
zer-sonata).  Here  alone  his  reception  seems  to  have  been  less  warm 
than  was  expected,  and  Liszt,  with  his  usual  generosity,  at  once  un- 
dertook to  bear  the  loss  that  might  have  fallen  on  his  agent.  Of  this 
generosity  numerous  instances  might  be  cited.  The  charitable  pur- 
poses to  which  Liszt's  genius  has  been  made  subservient  are  legion, 
and  in  this  respect  as  well  as  in  that  of  technical  perfection  he  is  un- 
rivaled amongst  virtuosi.  The  disaster  caused  at  Pesth  by  the  inun- 
dation of  the  Danube  (1837)  was  considerably  alleviated  by  the 
princely  sum  —  the  result  of  several  concerts  —  contributed  by  this 
artist;  and  when  two  years  later  a  considerable  sum  had  been  col- 
lected for  a  statue  to  be  erected  to  him  at  Pesth,  he  insisted  upon  the 
money  being  given  to  a  struggling  young  sculptor,  whom  he  moreover 
assisted  from  his  private  means.  The  poor  of  Raiding  also  had  cause 
to  remember  the  visit  paid  by  Liszt  to  his  native  village  about  the 
same  time.  It  is  well  known  that  Beethoven's  monument  at  Bonn 
owed  its  existence,  or  at  least  its  speedy  completion,  to  Liszt's  liber- 
ality. When  the  subscriptions  for  the  purpose  began  to  fail,  Liszt 


190  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND  MUSIG 

offered  to  pay  the  balance  required  from  his  own  pocket,  provided 
only  that  the  choice  of  the  sculptor  should  be  left  to  him.  From  the 
beginning  of  the  forties  dates  Liszt's  more  intimate  connection  with 
Weimar,  where  in  1849  he  settled  for  the  space  of  twelve  years.  This 
stay  was  to  be  fruitful  in  more  than  one  sense.  When  he  closed  his 
career  as  a  virtuoso,  and  accepted  a  permanent  engagement  as  con- 
ductor of  the  Court  Theater  at  Weimar,  he  did  so  with  the  distinct 
purpose  of  becoming  the  advocate  of  the  rising  musical  generation,  by 
the  performance  of  such  works  as  were  written  regardless  of  immediate 
success,  and  therefore  had  little  chance  of  seeing  the  light  of  the  stage. 
At  short  intervals  eleven  operas  of  living  composers  were  either  per- 
formed for  the  first  time  or  revived  on  the  Weimar  stage.  Amongst 
these  may  be  counted  such  works  as  Lohengrin,  Tannhduser,  and 
The  Flying  Dutchman  of  Wagner,  Benvenuto  Cellini  by  Berlioz, 
Schumann's  Genoveva,  and  music  to  Byron's  'Manfred.*  Schubert's 
Alfonso  and  Estrella  was  also  rescued  from  oblivion  by  Liszt's  exer- 
tions. For  a  time  it  seemed  as  if  this  small  provincial  city  was  once 
more  to  be  the  artistic  center  of  Germany,  as  it  had  been  in  the  days 
of  Goethe,  Schiller  and  Herder.  From  all  sides  musicians  and  ama- 
teurs flocked  to  Weimar,  to  witness  the  astonishing  feats  to  which  a 
small  but  excellent  community  of  singers  and  instrumentalists  were 
inspired  by  the  genius  of  their  leader.  In  this  way  was  formed  the 
the  nucleus  of  a  group  of  young  and  enthusiastic  musicians,  who, 
whatever  may  be  thought  of  their  aims  and  achievements,  were  and 
are  at  any  rate  inspired  by  perfect  devotion  to  music  and  its  poetical 
aims.  It  was,  indeed,  at  these  Weimar  gatherings  that  the  musicians 
who  now  form  the  so-called  School  of  the  Future,  till  then  unknown 
to  each  other  and  divided  locally  and  mentally,  came  first  to  a  clear 
understanding  of  their  powers  and  aspirations.  How  much  the  per- 
sonal fascination  of  Liszt  contributed  to  this  desired  effect  need  not  be 
said.  Amongst  the  numerous  pupils  on  the  pianoforte,  to  whom  he  at 
the  same  period  opened  the  invaluable  treasure  of  his  technical  ex- 
perience, may  be  mentioned  Hans  von  Biilow,  the  worthy  disciple  of 
such  a  master. 

"The  remaining  facts  of  Liszt's  life  may  be  summed  up  in  a  few 
words.  In  1859  he  left  his  official  position  at  the  Opera  in  Weimar 
owing  to  the  captious  opposition  made  to  the  production  of  Cornelius' 
'  Barber  of  Bagdad,'  at  the  Weimar  Theater.  Since  that  time  he  has 
been  living  at  intervals  at  Rome,  Pesth,  and  Weimar,  always  sur- 
rounded by  a  circle  of  pupils  and  admirers,  and  always  working  for 


LISZT.  197 

music  and  musicians  in  the  unselfish  and  truly  catholic  spirit  character- 
istic of  his  whole  life." 

Liszt's  position  in  the  world  of  art  is  one  that  is  altogether  pecu- 
liar and  unexampled.  He  appeared  in  Paris  just  at  the  time  when 
Thalberg  had  made  a  profound  impression  by  the  ease  of  his  playing  and 
the  remarkable  results  attainable  from  the  piano.  What  Thalberg  did 
was  to  carry  a  melody  in  the  center  of  the  compass  of  the  instrument, 
principally  with  the  two  thumbs,  and  to  surround  it  with  an  elabora- 
tion of  passage-work  entirely  unheard  of  before.  The  melody  so  car- 
ried was  not  left  to  itself,  or  merely  pounded  out,  but  made  to  sing, 
and  delivered  with  the  utmost  refinement  of  phrasing,  as  if,  indeed, 
the  player  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  just  then  but  to  play  that 
melody.  There  was  in  all  of  Thalberg's  pieces  a  certain  similarity  of 
style,  and  in  his  performance  a  certain  coldness. 

All  this,  which  Thalberg  did  so  beautifully  and  elegantly,  yet  so 
coldly,  Liszt  did  spontaneously,  and  ^with  an  endless  caprice  of 
color  and  shading  as  the  mood  chanced.  Besides  these  things,  to 
which,  indeed,  he  attached  little  importance,  Liszt's  exuberent  fancy 
broke  out  in  every  direction,  especially  towards  the  new,  the  startling, 
the  astonishing.  For  his  calmer  moments  he  had  his  work  ready  to 
his  hands  in  the  elegant  but  dramatically  suggestive  compositions  of 
Chopin,  and  these  Liszt  played  with  a  fire  and  strength  far  beyond  the 
feeble  powers  of  Chopin  himself. 

As  a  player  Liszt  gathered  up  and  combined  within  himself  all 
the  excellencies  of  piano-playing  known  before  him,  and  added  to 
this,  his  inherited  capital,  a  perfectly  tropical  luxuriance  of  elaboration 
in  every  direction. 

The  possibilities  latent  in  the  diminished  seventh  and  the  chro- 
matic scale,  were  very  plainly  suggested  in  Mozart's  wind-parts  of 
Handel's  "  The  People  that  Walked  in  Darkness,"  but  they  remained 
a  sealed  book  to  the  pianist  until  Chopin  showed  them  at  their  true 
value  on  the  pianoforte.  This  new  path  attracted  Liszt,  who  has 
effected  a  thousand  transformations  on  these  elements,  most  of  them 
much  simpler  and  less  subtle  than  Chopin's,  but  perhaps  on  that  very 
account  all  the  more  effective  in  concert.  And  so  we  find  in  Liszt's 
transcriptions  and  paraphiases  of  songs  and  orchestral  works,  not  only 
very  effective  solos  for  virtuoso  performance,  but  also  an  actual  and 
very  influential  enlargement  of  the  available  field  of  the  piano,  and, 
more  and  more  in  his  later  works,  a  demand  upon  the  player  for  intel- 
ligence and  musical  discrimination  of  touch.  In  his  earlier  transcrip- 


198  HOW  TO   UNDERSTAND   MUSIC. 

tions  he  is  concerned  with  operatic  melodies,  and  those  mainly  of 
Verdi,  Rossini  and  Meyerbeer.  In  his  later  works  he  traverses  the 
whole  range  of  musical  literature.  Symphonies,  quartettes,  masses, 
operas,  oratorios,  and,  last  and  least  promising  of  all,  Wagner's  "  Art- 
Work  of  the  Future," —  all  these  re-attire  themselves  in  habiliments 
of  pianoforte  passages,  and  pose  for  drawing-room  use. 

Liszt  has  been  the  great  music  teacher  of  the  last  forty  years.  He 
has  never  received  a  dollar  for  musical  instruction,  but  has  given  his 
services  in  pure  love  for  the  art.  All  good  pianists  owe  much  to  him  ; 
not  only  to  the  silent  but  forcible  inspiration  of  his  printed  works,  but 
also  still  more  to  his  personal  example  and  criticism.  As  long  ago  as 
1852  he  had  a  class  of  seven  or  eight  young  men  at  Weimar,  all  of 
whom  have  since  become  famous.  Among  them  were  Hans  von 
Billow,  Carl  Klindworth,  Joachim  Raff,  William  Mason,  Dionys  Priick- 
ner,  and  Joseph  Joachim.  Later  additions  were  Edouard  Remenyi  and 
Carl  Tausig.  Not  only  were  pianists  here,  but  violinists,  singers, 
painters,  sculptors,  poets,  and  literary  men  of  all  kinds,  all  of  whom 
found  something  inspiring  and  helpful  in  this  magical  and  unconven- 
tional atmosphere.  Since  1853  it  is  safe  to  say  that  every  concert 
pianist  in  the  world  has  been  for  a  longer  or  a  shorter  time  with  Liszt. 

A  wrong  idea  of  Liszt  as  a  pianist  is  held  by  those  who  suppose 
that  his  playing  is  characterized  by  great  force  and  extravagance. 
Imagine  a  very  tall  and  slender  man,  more  than  six  feet,  with  enor- 
mously long  arms  and  fingers.  He  sits  bolt  upright,  his  long  legs  bent 
at  a  sharp  angle  at  the  knee.  The  trowsers  are  held  down  by  straps. 
His  face  bears  an  ascetic  expression.  His  hair  is  long,  white,  and 
floats  upon  his  shoulders.  His  eyes  are  half-closed,  and  he  scarcely 
ever  looks  at  his  hands.  He  sits  perfectly  still.  Those  long  fingers 
go  meandering  over  the  key-board  like  gigantic  spiders.  You  shud- 
der at  the  sight.  He  seems  to  be  playing  slowly.  The  touch  is  every- 
thing but  legato.  This  he  does  with  the  pedal.  Yet  in  this  easy,  non- 
chalant fashion  he  is  improvising  the  most  wi-erd  or  impressive  harmo- 
nies, or  plays  at  first  sight  the  most  difficult  productions  of  other  vir- 
tuosi. Nay!  he  even  takes  a  full  score  of  a  pianoforte  concerto  by 
some  new  author,  and  plays  it  from  the  cramped  and  obscure  hand- 
writing as  coolly  and  vigorously  as  if  he  had  written  it  himself,  and  at 
the  very  same  first  sight  reads  also  the  orchestral  parts,  and  makes 
spoken  comments  on  the  instrumentation  as  he  goes  along!  This, 
which  sounds  like  a  rhapsodical  description,  is  literally  true  of  Liszt. 
A  virtuoso  pupil  brings  him  a  fugue  on  which  he  has  spent  much  prac- 
tice. Liszt  thinks  it  too  slow,  and  plays  it  at  the  proper  tempo.  The 


LISZT.  199 

youngster  takes  it  home  and  works  at  it  six  weeks  before  he  brings  it 
up  to  the  rapid  tempo.  If  now  he  were  to  bring  it  again  to  Liszt,  he 
would  be  just  as  likely  to  play  it  again  in  yet  double  speed. 

Liszt  seems  to  have  been  expressly  designed  for  a  sort  of  appre- 
ciative older  brother  to  all  new  and  original  composers.  For  this  use 
his  temperament  exactly  suits.  The  points  in  their  work  that  criticism 
sticks  at,  are,  of  course,  the  new  and  sometimes  the  very  turning-points 
of  their  lasting  value.  These  points  Liszt  seizes  by  intuition.  Imper- 
fections of  a  trifling  character,  or  even  of  a  serious  kind,  so  they  do 
not  interfere  with  the  main  idea  of  the  work,  have  no  power  to  with- 
draw his  attention  from  vital  points.  It  was  Liszt  who  first  joined 
with  Schumann  in  recognizing  the  genius  of  Schubert.  It  was  Liszt 
who  even  went  beyond  Schumann  and  every  other  critic  in  recogniz- 
ing the  high  artistic  significance  of  the  works  of  Berlioz  and  Wagner. 

As  a  composer  Liszt  has  worked  in  every  field.  He  is  never  re- 
poseful. His  works  are  generally  fragmentary.  They  are  character- 
ized by  intense  contrasts  and  sensational  transitions.  All  available 
resources  he  uses  unhesitatingly.  His  influence  in  art  will  be  very 
great,  but  as  a  composer  it  will  probably  be  limited  to  his  own  genera- 
tion. His  power  is  rather  in  his  personal  inspiration  to  other  men  of 
genius,  than  in  a  vocation  for  a  distinctly  new  artistic  utterance,  ex- 
cept, indeed,  upon  the  pianoforte. 

PROGRAMME  OF  LISZT  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

(Employing  two  Pianists  and  a  Soprano.) 

1.  Concerto  in  E  flat,  with  second  pianoforte  accompaniment. 

2.  Song,  "  Thou'rt  Like  a  Lovely  Flower." 

3.  a.  Waldesrauchen,  Concert  Study. 

6.  Spinning  Song  from  "  Flying  Dutchman." 

4.  "  Mignon's  Song." 

5.  a.  Polonaise  Heroique  in  E. 
6.  Schubert's  "  Wanderer." 

c.  Second  Hungarian  Rhapsody.    (Rive"-King  Edition.) 


INDEX 


Antecedent,  30. 

Adieux,  the  Ab.  and  Ret.,  Beethoven,  op.  84;  54. 

Architecture,  Oriental,  77. 

Architecture,  81. 

Aria,  and  Scena,  128,  130. 

Astonishing  and  the  Sensational,  116. 

Art,  Design  of,  54. 

Conditions  of  its  Enjoyment,  6x. 

Content  and  Form  of,  61. 

Religion  and  Philosophy,  74. 

and  Sense,  74. 

and  Religion,  75. 

Ancient,  76. 

Symbolical,  77 

Classical,  78, 

Romantic,  79. 

Romantic,  Conflict  in,  79. 

Romantic,  Keynote  0^79. 

Design  and  Scope  of,  59. 
Bach,  2  pt.  Inventions,  No.  i  :  n,  48,94. 

Prelude,  Bm.  W.  T.  C.  Bk.  II.,  n. 

2  pt.  Inv.  in  F,  No.  8  :  12,  14,  44,  48,  146. 
Fugue  in  G  min.,  W.  T.  C.  I.  ;  14,  16,  48. 
Inventions  i,  4  and  8:   16. 

Gavotte  in  D  (Wm.  Mason),  17,  146. 
Gavotte  in  D  min.,  17,  29,  33. 

3  pt.  Inv,  in  E  min.,  No.  7  :  5,  25,  146  ;  44. 
Fugue  in  C  min..  No.  2,  W.  T.  C.,  48,  146. 
Illustrations  of,  146. 

Italian  Concerto,  106. 

Passacaglia,  in  C  min.  for  Organ,  106. 

Organ  prelude  in  A  min.,  115. 

Loure  in  G,  146, 

Song,  My  Heart  Ever  Faithful,  146,  130. 
Ballad,  The  Simple,  125. 
Bellini,  Operatic  Illustrations,  130. 
Battle  of  Prague,  Kotzwara,  54. 
Beautiful,  Perceived  by  Contemplation,  62. 


, 

Nature  of,  63. 
in  Spiritual  Perception,  68. 


in  Reflection,  69. 

in  Classic  Music,  101. 

Perception  of  one  of  the  Highest  Faculties,  74. 
Beauty,  Formal,  67. 

Psychological  Rank  of  Perception  of,  74. 
Beethoven,  168. 

Op.  2,  No.  i  :  10,  n,  13,  14,  22,  24,  28,  30,  33, 
.      36,  39,  48,  96,  ico. 

Op.  2,  No.  2  :  33,  44,  96. 

Op.  2,  No.  3  :  15,  33,  36,  94. 

Op.  7:  7,  it,  25,94,98. 

Op.  10,  Son.  in  C  mm.  ,39,  41. 

Opfrio,  Son.  in  D,  94. 

Op.  13;  n,  12,  13,  14,  22,  24,  28,  30,  44,  98,  100. 

Op.  14,  No.  2  :  20,  30,  94,  98. 

Op.  20,  Septette,  100. 

Op.  22,  Son.  in  B£,  36,  39. 

Op.  26,  Son.  in  A6,  20,  36. 

Op.  27,  No.  2  :  106 

Op.  28,  Son.  pastorale,  41,  54,  94. 

Op.  30,  Son.  in  G  for  P.  F.  and  Violin,  96. 

Op.  31,  No.  i,  in  G,  39,  41,  96. 

Op.  31,  No.  2  :  in  D.  minor,  10,  n. 

Op.  31,  No.  3:  in  E£,  15,  96,  106. 

Op.  51,  Two  Rondos,  36,  98. 

Op-  57.  Son.  app.  20,  39,  44,  48,  96. 

Op.  81,  Sonata,  54. 

Op.  90,  Sonata,  13,  14. 

Op.  129,  Rondo  Capriccioso,  98. 

Vari.  onGretry's  "UneFiebre  BrQlante,"  20. 

Symphonies,  ad,  5th  and  7th,  100. 

Sonatas  for  Piano  and  Violin,  100. 

List  of  Illustrations,  179. 
Chopin,  List  of  Illustrations,  186. 

Life,  etc.,  183. 

Op.  9.  Nocturne  in  ££,44 

Op.  n,  Concerto  in  E  min.,  48,  57,  119. 

Op.  16,  Rondo  in  E£,  116. 


Chopin,  Op.  18,  Valse  in  E£,  52. 

Op.  22,  Polonaise  in  E£,  no. 

Op.  26,  Polonaise  in  C  sharp,  m.  no. 

Op.  29,  Impromptu  in  A<5,  29,  33. 

Op.  31,  Scherzo  in  B<£  min.,  31,  33,  116. 

Op.  34,  No.  2  :  Valse  in  A£,  1 16. 

Op.  35,  Sonata,  nj. 

Op.  40,  Polonaise  in  A,  22,  25,  33,  44,  no. 

Op.  42,  Valse  in  Ai>,  52. 

Op.  53,  Polonaise  in  Ai,  no. 

Op.  64,  Valse  in  D<5,  33. 

Polonaises,  107. 

Cadenza  from  Liszt's  Rigoletto,  57. 
Cadenza,  49. 
Cadence,  13. 
Carnival  of  Venice,  22. 
Cascade,  Pauer,  25. 
Classic,  The  Playful  in,  93. 

The  Tender  and  Soulful"in,  94. 

The  Rondo,  97. 

Music,  the  Beautiful  in,  101. 

Music,  Transition  from  Romantic  to,  101. 
Coda,  33. 
Counterpoint,  16. 
Consequent,  30. 
Content,  42. 

Contemplation,  The  Satisfactory  in,  65, 
Chivalrous,  The,  107. 
Claribel,  Songs,  126. 
Descriptive  Music,  53. 
Elaboration,  37. 
Emotional,  45. 
Fugue,  15. 
Form,  26. 
Forms,  Open  and  Closed,  28. 

Unitary,  29. 

Irregular  Period,  30. 

Binary,  32. 

Ternary,  34. 

Field,  Nocturne  in  B/>,  44, 112. 
Faust  Waltz,  Liszt,  52. 
Fanciful,  The,  and  Pleasing,  115. 
Gentle,  The',  and  Sentimental,  in 
Greek  Ideal,  The,  78. 
Handel,  Chaconne  and  Var,  48. 

Capriccio  in  G  minor,  48. 

Messiah,  Selections,  128,  130, 147. 

O  Had  I  Jubal's  Lyre,  130. 
Harmony,  67. 
Haydn's  tjth  Symphony,  96. 

Creation  Selections,  128,  130. 

Illustrations,  161. 

Hobby  Horse,  Schumann  op.  68 :  54. 
Humoristic,  The, and  the  Passionate  113, 
Imitation,  14. 
Intellectual,  45. 
Idealized,  The,  51. 
Ideal,  The,  54,  58. 

Phases  of,  55. 

Greek,  The,  78. 

in  different  Arts,  81. 

and  its  Phases,  55. 
Infinity,  73. 

Influence  of  Poetry  upon  Music,  120. 
Liszt  s  Rigoletto,  Cadenza,  51,  119. 

Polonaise  Heroiquein  E,  no. 

Concerto  in  E£,  119. 

TannhSuser  March,  119. 

Life,  etc.,  194. 

Illustrations,  199. 

and  Thalberg  compared,  197. 
Lyric,  10,  12. 
Mills'  ist  Tarantelle,  116. 
Motive,  10. 
Mendelssohn,  Sw.  W.,  No.  i .  11,  29. 

Chorale  from  St.  Paul,  Sleepers  wake,  17. 

Hunting  Song,  29. 

Rondo  Capriccioso,  op.  14,  98. 


INDEX. 


Mendelssohn,  Life,  etc.,  180. 

List  of  Illustrations,  183. 

Aria  from  St.  Paul,  134. 
Measure,  21. 
Merz,  K,  Leonore  Polka,  22. 

Pearl  of  the  Sea,  52. 
Motivization  24. 

Mason,  Win..  Dance  Rustique,.  28. 
Mozart,  Son.  in  F.  (No  6  Peters'  Ed.),  41. 

Andante  for  Quintette,  96. 

Larghetto  in  IJ,  from  Clarinet  Concerto,  96. 

Andante  from  sth  Quintette,  106. 

Life,  etc.,  162. 

Operas,  165. 

Illustrations.  167. 

Operatic  Selections,  130. 
Moderation,  68. 
Messiah,  The,  154. 
Music  as  Related  to  other  Arts,  86. 

Limitations  of,  89. 

Classic,  the  Beautiful  in,  101. 

Influence  of  Poetry  upon,  120. 
Opera,  The,  135. 
Oratorio,  The,  135. 
Oriental  Architecture,  77. 
Painting  and  Sculpture  Compared,  85. 
Painting,  83, 
Passage,  48. 

Passionate,  The  Humoristic  and  the,  113. 
Pauer,  Cascade,  25. 
Period,  9. 
Period-group,  32. 
Phrase,  10. 

Philosophy,  Art,  Religion  and,  74, 
Playful,  The.  in  the  Classic,  93. 
Pleasing,  The  Fanciful  and  the,  115. 

in  Sensation,  64. 
Principal,  yi. 

Psychological  rank  of  the  Perception  of  Beauty,  74. 
Psychological  Relations  of  Music, 
Programmes,  How  to  Plan, 
Poetic  Music,  52. 
Poetry,  88. 

Content  of.  91. 

Kinds  of,  92. 
Proportion,  67. 

Poetry,  Influence  upon  Music,  no. 
Pulsation,  21. 
Purity,  64 
Raff,  Op.  94,  Valse  Impromptu  in  B£,  116. 

Polka  de  la  Reine,  119. 
Religion  and  Art,  75. 

Art  and  Philosophy,  74. 
Regularity,  67. 
Repose,  71. 

The  Touchstone  for  False  Art,  73. 
Recitative,  126. 
Rhythm,  21,  23. 
Rhythmic  Motion,  23. 
Rigolettp,  Liszt,  Cadenza,  51,  119. 
Romantic  Illustrations,  194. 

Art,  79. 

Art,  Conflict  in,  79. 

Art,  Keynote  of,  79. 

Art,  Transition  from,  to  Classical,  101. 

The  Chivalrous,  107. 

The  Gentle  and  Sentimental,  HI. 

The,  Humoristic  and  Passionate,  113. 

The  Fanciful  and  Pleasing,  115. 
Rondo,  34. 
Root,  Geo.  F.,  The  Brooklet,  126. 

Hazel  Dell,  126. 

Vacant  Chair,  ia6. 

Rubinstein's  Valse  Caprice  in  E£,  116 
Ruskinon  Beauty,  63. 

on  Infinity,  73. 

on  Moderation,  68. 

on  Purity,  64. 

on  Repose,  71. 

on  Symmetry,  65. 


Ruskin  on  Unity,  69. 
Schumann,  Life,  etc.,  186. 

List  of  Illustrations,  193,  194. 

Contrasted  with  Beethoven  and  Bach,  192. 

Op.  2,  Polonaise  in  D,  no. 

Op.  12,  Aufschwung,  31,  115. 

Op.  15,  Scenes  of  Childhood,  54,  115. 

Op.  16,  Kreisleriana,  No.  2,  36. 

Op.  21,  Novelette  inE.  No.  7;  11,29. 

Op.  24,  No.  i,  in  C,  as. 

Op.  24,  No.  4,  in  F,  22. 

Op.  28,  Romance  in  F  sharp,  44. 

Op.  68,  Spring  Song,  15. 

Op.  68,  Hobby  Horse,  54. 

Op.  99,  Novelette  in  B  minor,  u. 

Traumerei,  29. 

Songs,  134. 
Schubert,  Dances,   11,  28. 

Menuetto  in  B  min.,  Op.  78  :   10,  u,  13,  14,  22, 

33.  44- 

Waltz,  No.  i,  22. 

Sonata  in  C,  31. 

Op.  90,  I.,  Impromptu  in  C  min.,  48. 

Op.  90,  II.,  Impromptu  in  E6,  48. 

Op.  142,  Impromptu  in  B£,  106. 

Songs,  134. 

Sentimental,  The  Gentle  and,  in. 
Second,  32. 
Sequence,  48. 
Sensuous,  The,  51. 

Scenes  from  Childhood,  Op.  15,  Schumann,  54, 
Sensation,  The  Pleasing  in,  64. 
Satisfactory  in  Contemplation,  The,  £5. 
Sense,  Art  and,  74. 
Sculpture,  82. 
Sonata,  piece,  36. 
Song-group,  37. 
Sonata,  40. 

Plan  of,  40. 

Unity  in,  41. 

The  Cycle  of,  98. 

Sculpture  and  Painting  Compared,  85. 
Soulful  and  Tender  in  the  Classic,  94. 
Sensational  and  Astonishing,  116. 
Scena  and  Aria,  128. 

and  Aria,  Illustrations  of,  130. 
Scarlatti,  D.,  148. 
Strauss.  Blue  Danube,  52. 
Storm,  The,  H.  Weber,  54. 
Song,  The  Thoroughly  Composed  134. 

Illustrations  of 
Suggestive  Music,  52. 
Symmetry,  66. 
Symbolical  Art,  77. 
Thematic,  10,  12. 
Third,  34. 

Titania,  Lefebre-Wely,  48. 
Time,  67. 

Tender  and  Soulful,  The,  in  th»  Classic,  94. 
Transition  from  Romantic  to  Classical,  10*. 
Thomas,  A.,  Mignon,  128. 
Unity  in  Variety,  67. 
Unity,  69. 

oPSeparate  and  Distinct  Things,  70. 

of  Origin,  71. 

of  Membership.  71. 
Voice,  14. 
Variations,  18. 

Defined,  20. 

Formal,  20. 

Character,  20. 
Variety,  Unity  in,  67. 
Weber,  "  Der  Freischtttz,"  Waltz,  aa. 

Polocca  Brillante,  Op.  72,  no.  V 

Ocean,  Thou  Mighty  Monster,  139- 
Wieck,  Clara,  189. 

Aria  from  Lohengrin,  134. 
Zachan,  148. 


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